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THE 



GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 



^N4 ' .V 



A DRAMA IN PROLOGUE AND 
FOUR ACTS. 



DRAMATIZED FROM THE NOVEL OF THAT NAME, 

BY 

FRANK CARLOS. \. 

\ 



BOSTON 



^i^uM^M^acJ^s^^^ 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1878, 

BY FRANK CARLOS, 

iri the OflSce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.C. 



Copyright, 1886, by Frank Carlos Griffith. 






CHARACTERS. 

GiLEAD P. Beck Comedy. 

Laurence Colquhoun Leading. 

Jack Dunquerque Juvetiile. 

Cornelius Jagenal Character. 

Humphrey Jagenal Character. 

Gabriel Cassilis \st Old Matt. 

Captain Ladds zd Old Man. 

Lee Ching 2d Heavy. 

John Ruskin Personated by Ladds. 

Thomas Carlyle Doubles with Lee Ching. 

Alfred Tennyson Utility. 

Professor Huxley Utility. 

George Augustus Sala Super. 

Charles Darwin Super. 

Algernon Swinburne Super. 

Servant Utility. 

Phillis Fleming Jnginue. 

Mrs. Cassilis Leading. 

"Representative of a Cause" .... 1st Old Woman. 
Her Assistant Walking Lady. 



NOTE. 

Managers of Theatres, wishing to produce this Play, can 
make arrangements to that effect by applying to the author, care 
of Walter H. Baker & Co., P. O. Box 2846, Boston. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 



PROLOGUE. 



Scene. — Empire City. A deserted jnining-toivn. A row 
of dilapidated shanties in perspective at back. A two- 
sto?y shanty L. set cornering from L. to C. of stage ^ at back. 
Wood wings R. Moujitains at back, with sjin about an 
hour high. Sun to set during scene, and the sky to glow 
after the sun is down. Broken shovels lying about with 
other discarded and ruined property. Grass growing tip 
around the deserted shanties. 

Jack {speaking outside, R.). What do you think, chief? 

Capt. Ladds. Push on. {Enter, r. i e., Ronald Dun- 
QUERQUE (Jack) and Capt. Ladds.) 

Jack. If you were not so intolerably conceited about the 
value of your words, — hang it, man, you are not the Poet- 
Laureate ! — you might give your reasons why we should not 
camp where we are. The sun will be down in an hour ; the 
way is long, the wind is cold, or will be soon. This pilgrim 
has tightened his belt to stave off the gnawing at his stomach. 
Here is running water, here is wood, here is shelter, here is 
everything calculated to charm the poetic mind even of Cap- 
tain Ladds — 

Ladds {pointing l.). Road ! Roads lead to places ; 
places have beds ; beds are warmer than grass ; no rattle- 
snakes in beds ; miners in hotels — amusing fellows, miners. 
Deserted here. Too much ventilation. 

Jack. If ever I go out again after buffaloes, or bears, or 
mountain deer, or any other game whatever, which this great 
continent offers, with a monosyllabic man, may I be con- 
demned to another two months of buffalo-steak without 
Worcester sauce, such as I have had already ; may I be poi- 
soned with bad Bourbon whiskey ; may I never again see 
the sweet shady side of Pall Mall ; may I — {Looking sud- 
denly R. u. E.) be blowed, what's that ? 



6 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Ladds {after a moment'' s pause). Man. 

Jack. What's he running for? 

Ladds. Think likely he's in a hurry. 

Jack. Hello, there's a Grizzly after him. 

Ladds. Right. A procession of two. 

Jack {bringing his rijle up). I'll soon settle him. 

Ladds {knocking up the rifle). Man in line. Walt. 
That bear means claws. 

Jack. Tommy, I can cover him now. 

Ladds. Wait, Jack. Dont miss. Give Grizzly two min- 
utes more. God ! how the fellow scuds. 

Jack. See how Grizzly holds his great head down and 
wags it from side to side. Now, Tommy. 

Ladds. Give Grizzly two minutes. 

Jack. Only fifty yards ; the man looks over his shoulder ; 
forty yards. 

Ladds. Getting pumped. Mustn't let Grizzly claw the 
poor devil. 

Jack, Let me bring him down. Tommy ? 

Ladds. Bring him down, young un. Let him have it. 
(Jack fires. Bear roars. Beck, outside^ shrieks) Good, 
young un. He's down. Up again. Only wounded. Wait. 
{Brijtgs rifie suddenly to shoulder and fires. Beck rushes 
on stage from r. 3 E., and falls, exhausted, c. The bear falls 
dead Just on at the entra7tce.) Grizzly's dead. {Drops rifle^ 
and pulls out knife.) Steak. 

Jack. No. Skin. Let me take his skin. You can cut 
some steaks after. Now for the man. {Goes to Beck.) 
Now, old man. Might as well sit up, you know, if you can't 
stand. Bruin's gone to the happy hunting-grounds. 

Beck. {Gradually recovers, ojid allows them to assist 
him to his feet. He has a thin, patchy, irregular beard. 
Moccasins. Trousers all ivorti, and greasy, and ragged. 
Tattered flantiel shirt j right arin of shirt nearly g07ie, 
showing a tattooed limb. No buttons on garment. Thorns 
instead. Red cotton handkerchief around his neck, and soft 
round felt hat, pinned up in front with a thorn. Small 
wooden box around neck, fastened by a steel chaiti. No 
weapons. He stares around ; stretches j shakes hijnself 
and looks around, seeing the bear. Then goes to him, and, 
after looking at him a mo}nent,pats his head, and re?narks :) 
I sympathize with you, Grizzly, for your bad run of luck. {To 
Jack rt?z<^ Ladds.) A near thing. Since I've been in this 
doggoned country, I've had one or two near things, but this 
was the nearest. 

Jack. Rather close. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. / 

Beck. And which of you gentlemen was good enough to 
shoot the critter? (Ladds indicates Jack, Beck takes 
off his hat, and extends hand.') Sir, I don't know your name, 
and you don't know mine. If you did, you wouldn't be much 
happier, because it is not a striking name. If you'll oblige 
me, sir, by touching that {indicating hajid), we shall be 
brothers. All that's mine shall be yours. I do not ask you, 
sir, to reciprocate. All that's mine, sir, when I get anything, 
shall be yours. At present, sir, there is nothing ; but I've 
luck behind me. Shake hands, sir. Once a mouse helped 
a lion, sir. It's in a book. I am the mouse, sir, and you are 
the hon. Sir, my name is Gilead P. Beck. 

Jack. I only fired the first shot. My friend here — 

Ladds. No. Won't have it. First shot disabled — hunt 
finished then — Grizzly out of the running. Glad you're not 
clawed — unpleasant to be clawed. Young un did it. No 
thanks. Tell us where we are ? 

Beck. This was Patrick's Camp, since called Empire 
City. The pioneers of '49 could tell you a good deal about 
Patrick's Camp. It was here that Patrick kept his store. 
In those old days, — they're gone now, — if a man wanted to 
buy a blanket, that article, sir, was put into one scale and 
weighed down with gold-dust in the other. Same with a pair 
of boots ; same with a pound of raisins. Patrick might have 
died rich, sir, but he didn't, — none of the pioneers did, — so 
he died poor ; and died in his boots, too, — like most of the 
lot. 

Jack. Not much left of the camp. 

Beck. No, sir, not much. The mine gave out. Then 
they moved up the hills, where I conclude you gentlemen are 
on your way. Prospecting, likely. I was trying to find my 
way here when I met with old Grizzly. Perhaps if I'd let 
him alone, he'd have let me alone. But I blazed at him, 
and, sir, I missed him ; then he shadowed me, and the old 
rifle's gone at last. 

Jack. How long did the chase last ? 

Beck. I should say, sir, forty days and forty nights, or 
near about. And you gentlemen are going — 

Jack. We are going anywhere. Perhaps, for the present, 
you had better join us. 

Beck. Perhaps I better had. I ought first, though, to sit 
down and cry like a girl on the prairie. 

Jack. Why ought you to cry ? 

Beck. I guess I ought to cry because I've lost my rifle, 
and everything except my Luck, in that darned long stern- 
chase. 



8 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Jack. You can easily get a new rifle. 

Beck. With dollars. As for them, there's not a dollar 
left — nary a red cent ; only my Luck. 

Jack. And what is your Luck? 

Beck. That I will tell you by and by. Perhaps it's your 
Luck, too, young boss. 

Ladds. What do you know about this place ? 

Beck. Empire City ? 

Ladds. I see a city-^ — can't see the people. 

Beck. All gone. City's busted up. When I first sot 
eyes on Empire City, two years ago, it was just two years 
old. It is only in our country that a great city springs up in 
a day. I said to myself then, sir, Empire City is bound to 
advance ; Empire City will be the Chicago of the West. 
Five years ago there was ten thousand miners here ; now 
there isn't one ; nothing but a Chinaman or two. 

Jack. How do you know there are Chinamen? 

Beck. See those stones ? {Pointing l.) 

Jack. Yes. 

Beck. The miners picked the bones of those rocks, but 
they never pick quite clean. Then the Chinamen come and 
finish off. Gentlemen, it's a special Providence that you 
picked me up. I don't altogether admire the way in which 
that special Providence was played up to, in the matter of the 
bar ; but a Christian, without a revolver, alone among twenty 
Chinamen — {Shi'iigs his shoulders sigjiijicantly) gentlemen, 
they'd have got my Luck. 

Jack {to Ladds). Chief, I don't like it. It's ghostly. 
It's a town of dead men. As soon as it is dark, the ghosts 
will rise and walk about — play bilhards, I expect. What 
shall we do t 

Ladds. Late. Hotel. Sleep on floor — sit on chairs — 
eat off a table. 

Beck. I'll reconnoitre. {Goes into hotels L. 4.) 

Jack {to Ladds). What do you make of him ? 

Ladds. Yankee. Honest. Good fellow. Trust him. 

Jack, Good. I'm glad you like him, for I have taken to 
him immensely. 

Ladds. Acquisition. Help against Chinamen. Sh! {Re- 
enter Beck.) Well ? 

Beck. Wal, sir, the bar is left standing ; the glasses are 
-there ; bright-colored bottles ; two or three Bourbon whiskey 
kegs ; counter ; dice on the counter ; everything there except 
the drink. Everything gone but the fixins. There used to 
be good beds where there wasn't more'n two or three at once 
in 'em ; and there used to be such a crowd around this bar 
as you wouldn't find near'n St. Louis city. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 9 

Jack. Hush. There are steps inside the hotel. 

Beck. Chinamen, likely. If there's a row, gentlemen, 
give me something, if it's only a toothpick, to chime in with. 
But that's not a Chinese step ; that's an Englishman. He 
wears boots, but they're not miner's boots ; he walks fine 
and slow, like all Englishmen ; he is not in a hurry like our 
folk. And who but an Enghshman would be found staying 
behind in the Empire City when it's gone to pot ! 

Jack, Who, indeed ! Most unhandsome of a ghost, though, 
to walk before midnight. (Laurence Colquhoun enters 
from hotel, L. 4.) 

Beck. Told you he was an Englishman. 

Lau. {Light tJiin boots. Flannel shirt with red silk belt. 
Blanket thrown back fro fn his shoulders. Broad felt hat.) 
Englishmen, I see. 

Ladds. Yes. 

Lau. You have probably lost your way ? 

Ladds, Been hunting. Working round — San Fran- 
cisco. Followed track ; accident ; got here. Your hotel 
perhaps ? Fine situation, but lonely. 

Jack, Not a ghost, then. 

Lau. I may be able to make you comfortable for the 
night. You see my den. I came here a year or so ago — by 
accident, like yourselves. I found the place deserted. I 
liked the solitude, the scenery, whatever you like, and I 
stayed here. You are the only visitors I have had for a year. 

Beck. Chinamen? 

Lau. Well, Chinamen, of course. But only two of them. 
They take turns at forty dollars a month to cook my dinners. 
And there is a half caste who does not mind running down 
to Sacramento when I want anything. And so you see I 
make out pretty well, {Ptits whistle to lips and blows.) 
You shall see, (Lee Ching appears from hotel coming down 
L. c.) Dinner as soon as you can. 

Lee Ching, Ayah ! Can do. What time you wantchee .-* 

Lau. As soon as you can. Half an hour. 

Lee Ching, Can do. My no have got cully-powder. 
Have makee finish. Have got, 

Lau. Look for some ; make Achow help. 

Lee Ching. How can? No b'long his pidgin. He no 
helpee. B'long my pidgin, makee cook chow chow. Ayah ! 
Achow have go makee cheat over Melican man. Makee 
play cards all same, euchre. {Exit into hotel.) 

Ladds, Beg pardon. Should have seen. Made remark 
about hotel. Apologize. 

Jack. He means that he was a terrible great fool not to 



lO THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

see that you are a gentleman. (Ladds nods.) Let me intro- 
duce our party. This is our esteemed friend Mr. Gilead P. 
Beck, whom we caught in a bear-hunt — 

Beck. B'ar behind. 

Jack. This is Capt. Ladds of the 35th Dragoons. 

Ladds. Ladds. Nibs, cocoa-nibs, — pure aroma — best 
breakfast digester — blessing to mothers — perfect fragrance. 

Jack. His name is Ladds, and he wishes to communi- 
cate to you the fact that he is the son of the man who made 
an immense fortune — immense, Tommy .^ 

Ladds. Immense. 

Jack. By a crafty compound known as " Ladds' Patent 
Anti-dyspeptic Cocoa." My name is Ronald Dunquerque. 
People generally call me Jack. I don't know why, but they 
do. 

(Lee Ching and Achow enter^ bri?tging a rough table^ 
which they place c. Then hi^rry back and bring dishes^ etc.^ 

Lau. {shaking hands with Ladds). One of ours. My 
name is Laurence Colquhoun. I sold out before you joined. 
I came here, as you see. And now, gentlemen, 1 think I hear 
the first sounds of dinner. Lee Ching, bring the champagne 
from behind the curtain. Achow, claret. {They go off after 
these^ and instantly return with the7n.) I think they have 
laid such a table as the wilderness can boast. Not alto- 
gether what a man might order at the Junior United, but it 
will do. Here is venison, curry, mountain quail, and there 
is claret, and champagne, both good, especially the claret. 
Last, but not least, there is coffee. Now, gentlemen, to your 
places. No ceremony. {They sit. IjPMKe.^C'E at the head. 
Beck l. Ladds next to Laurence, r., and Jack nearest 
the audience^ r.) Help yourselves. 

Beck. Sir, we will. 

Lau. Claret t 

Jack. If you please. 

Lau. And you.? (71? Beck.) 

Beck. Don't care if I do, seein' it's you. 

Lau. And you ? {To Ladds.) 

Ladds. Yes, sir, 

Lau. Here's a health to merrie England. 

Beck. And death to b'ars. {All rise and drink?) 

Lau. Four years since I left England. 

Jack. But you will come back to it again .? 

Lau. I think not. 

Jack. Better. Much better. Robinson Crusoe always 
wanted to get home again. So did Selkirk. So did Philip 
Quarles. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. II 

Lau. Not so Laurence Colquhoun. 

Beck {taking box fj-om neck and placmg it on table). 
Let me tell you, gentlemen, the story of my Luck. I was in 
Sonora City, after the worst three months I ever had ; and 
I went around trying to borrow a few dollars. I got not dol- 
lars, but I got free drinks — so many free drinks that at last 
I lay down in the street and went to sleep. Wal, gentlemen, 
I suppose I walked in that slumber of nrine, for when I woke 
up, I was lying a mile outside the town. I also entertained 
angels unawares, for at my head there sat an Indian woman. 
She was as wrinkled an old squaw as ever shrieked at a 
buryin'. But she took an interest in me. She took that 
amount of interest in me that she told me that she knew of 
gold. And then she led me by the hand, gentlemen, that 
aged and affectionate old squaw, to a place not far from the 
roadside ; and there, lying between two rocks, and hidden 
in the chapparel, glittering in the light, was this bauble. 
{Tapping the box ^ I didn't want to be told to take it. I 
wrapped it in my handkerchief, and carried it in my hand. 
Then she led me back to the road again. " Bad luck you 
will have," she said, " but it will lead to good luck, so long 
as that is not broken, sold, given away, or lost." Then she 
left me, and here it is. Bad luck I have had. Look at me, 
gentlemen. Adam was not more destitute when the garden 
gates were shut on him. But the good will come somehow. 
{Opens box, and removes the biitterjly.^ 

Jack. A golden butterfly. 

Beck. A golden butterfly. No goldsmith made this but- 
terfly. It came from nature's workshop. It is my Luck. 

Jack. And if the butterfly fall and break, 

Farewell the Luck of Gilead Beck. 

Beck. Thank you, sir. That's very neat. I'll take that, 
sir, if you will allow me, for my motto, unless you want it for 
yourself. 

Jack. No, I have one already. 

Beck. " If this golden butterfly fall and break, 
Farewell the Luck of Gilead P. Beck." 

If you are going on, gentlemen, to San Francisco, I hope 
you will take me with you. 

Jack. With pleasure. 

Beck. Thank you. Do any of you happen to have a bit 
of paper about you ? 

Ladds. Here's a bit of newspaper. 

Beck. Good. Just the thing. {Taking piece of paper^ 
No good, is it ? {Looking it over^ 

Ladds. Not the least. Colquhoun, you do not mean to 



12 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

stay on here by yourself? Much better come with us, 
unless — 

Lau. No, I shall remain. 

Beck. Hullo, Victoria's married again. 

Jack. Not the Queen ? 

Beck. I don't know, it's a Victoria. 

Lau. Victoria ? 

Beck {reading fro7n paper). " On April 3d, by the 
Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Turk's Island, at St. George's, 
Hanover Square, Gabriel Cassilis, of etc., to Victoria, daugh- 
ter of the late Admiral Sir Benbow Pengelly, K. C. B." 

Lau. Let me see that, please. {Takes paper.') I think 
I will go with you. 

Jack. Hear, hear-! Selkirk returns to the sound of the 
church-going bell. 

Curtain. 



ACT I. 

Scene. — Parlor of Gabriel Cassilis, Hanover Square. 
PianOy R. Otto7na?i, c. Sofa, L. Chairs, etc. Gabriel 
Cassilis, r. Humphrey a7id Cornelius Jagenal on 
sofa, l. Phillis Fleming and Mrs. Cassilis oti otto- 
7nan, c. Jack Dunquerque, r., standing leaning on 
pia7io, A II discovered. 

Mr. Cassilis. Then you do not like Bollinger, Miss 
Fleming ? 

Phillis. It is a little too dry for me. 

Mr. C. You lived a very quiet life with your guardian 
at Highgate ? 

Phil. Yes, very quiet. Only two or three gentlemen 
ever came to the house, and I never went out. 

Cornelius. A fair prisoner, indeed. Danae in her tower 
waiting for the shower of gold. 

Phil. Danae must have wished when she was put in the 
box and sent to sea that the shower of gold had never come. 

Humphrey. At least, you went out to see the Academy, 
and the water-colors ? 

Phil. I have never seen a picture-gallery at all. I have 
not once been outside Mr. Dyson's grounds until a week 
ago, since I was six years old. 

Cor. You found your pleasure in reading divine poetry, 
perhaps in writing poetry yourself? 

Phil. Oh, dear, no. I have not yet learned to read. 
Mr. Dyson said that ladies ought not to learn reading till 
they are of an age when acquiring that mischievous art can- 
not hurt themselves or their fellow-creatures. 

Mr. C. You were taught other things, however ? 

Phil. Yes, I learned to play. My master came twice 
a week, and I can play pretty well ; I play either by ear or 
by memory. You see I never forget anything that I am 
told. 

Mrs. Cassilis. Can it be. Miss Fleming, that you never 
went outside of the house at all ? 

13 



14 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Phil. Oh, no. I could ride in the paddock. It was a 
good large field, and my pony was clever at jumping, so I 
got on pretty well. 

Jack. Would it be too much to ask you how you — how 
you got through the day ? 

Phil. Not at all. It was very easy. I had a ride before 
breakfast; gave Mr. Dyson his tea at ten; talked with him 
till twelve ; we always talked subjects, you know, and had a 
regular course. When we had done talking he asked me 
questions. Then I probably had another ride before lunch- 
eon. In the afternoon I played, looked after my dress, and 
drew. 

Humph. You are, then, an artist ! Cornelius, I saw from 
the first that Miss Fleming had the eye of an artist 

Phil. I do not know about that. I can draw people. 
I will show you some of my sketches to-morrow. They are 
all heads and figures. I shall draw all of you to-night before 
going to bed. 

Jack. And in the evening ? 

Phil. Mr. Dyson dined at seven. Sometimes he had 
one or two gentlemen to dine with him ; never any lady. 
When there was no one we talked subjects again. 

Mr. C. Gentlemen, shall we try a cigar on the veranda ? 
The ladies will excuse us, I dare say? 

Mrs. C. Certainly. {T/ie gejitleinen go on to veranda 
at back. Mrs. Cassilis goes R. to piano?) 

Cor. {as he is goings approaches Phjllis confidentially). 
You are watching my brother Humphrey. Study him. Miss 
Fleming ; it will repay you well to know that child-like and 
simple nature, innocent of the world, and aglow with the 
flame of genius. {Goes up C.) 

Phil. I think I can draw him, now. 

Humph. {co7ning to Phillis in like manner). I see your 
eyes turned upon my brother Cornelius. He is a great, a 
noble fellow, Miss Fleming. Cultivate him, talk to him, 
learn from him. You will be very glad some day to be able 
to boast that you have met my brother Cornelius ; to know 
him is a privilege ; to converse with him, an education. 
{Goes up c.) 

Mrs. C. {returning to Phillis). We used to think, 
until Mr. Dyson died and his preposterous will was read, 
that his eccentric behavior was partly your fault. But when 
we found that he had left you nothing, of course we felt that 
we had done you an involuntary wrong. 

Phil. I had plenty of money ; why should poor Mr. 
Dyson want to leave me any more .'' 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 1 5 

Mrs. C. Forty thousand pounds a year ! and all going to 
female education. Not respectable female education, either. 

Phil. Am I not respectable ? 

Mrs. C. My dear child, you cannot even read and write. 

Phil. That is quite true. 

Mrs. C. But everybody learns to read and write. All 
the Sunday-school children, even, know how to read and 
write. 

Phil. Perhaps that is a misfortune for the Sunday-school 
children. It would very likely be better for the Sunday- 
school children were they taught more useful things. 

Mrs. C. Miss Fleming, I am ten years older than you, 
and if you will only trust me, I will give you such advice and 
assistance as I can. 

Phil. You are very kind. If you will only tell me of my 
deficiencies, I will try to repair them. 

Mrs. C. Then let us consider. Of course you are quite 
ignorant of things that people talk about. Books are out of 
the question. Music and concerts ; art and pictures ; china 
— perhaps Mr. Dyson collected ? 

Phil. No. 

Mrs. C. a pity. China would be a great help. The 
opera and theatres ; balls and dancing. Perhaps you can 
fall back upon church matters. Are you a Ritualist ? 

Phil. What is that ? 

Mrs. C. My dear girl, did you actually never go to 
church ? 

Phil. No. Mr. Dyson used to read prayers every day. 
Why should people go to church, when they pray ? 

Mrs. C. Why ? Why ? Because people in society all 
go ; because you must set an example to the lower orders. 
Dear me, it is very shocking, and girls are all expected to 
take such an interest in religion. You can draw ? 

Phil. I draw a httle. Not so well, of course, as girls 
brought up respectably. 

Mrs. C. Pardon me, my dear Miss Fleming, if I say that 
sarcasm is not considered good style. 

Phil. I don't understand. I say what I think, and you 
tell me I am sarcastic. 

Mrs. C. Girls in society never say what they think. 

Phil. I looked at the girls yesterday as we drove through 
the streets. Some of them were walking hke this. {Rises 
and itnitates.^ Then there were others who walked like 
this. {Imitates.) Then there were boys. I never dreamed 
of such a lot of boys. And they were all whistling. This 
\yas the tune. {Whistles.^ 



1 6 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Mrs. C. {rising). My dear, dear^ dear girl, you must 
not whistle. 

Phil. Is it wrong to whistle ? 

Mrs. C. Not morally wrong, I suppose, but it is far 
worse, Phillis, far worse — it is unspeakably vulgar. 

Phil. Oh, I am so sorry. 

Mrs. C. You have an excellent figure, a very pretty and 
attractive face, winning eyes, and a taste in dress which only 
wants cultivation, and that we will begin to-morrow at Mel- 
ton and Mowbray's. 

Phil. Oh, yes, that will be delightful. I have never 
seen a shop yet. {Goes up to Jack, c.) 

Mrs. C. {in amaze?ne7it). She — has — never — seen — a 
— shop. That a girl of nineteen should be able to say she 
has never seen a shop ! {Goes tip c, and joins Mr. Cassilis 
a7id others. Cornelius and Humphrey conie down l.) 

Humph. Cornehus, she has fifty thousand pounds. 

Cor. She has, brother Humphrey. 

Humph. It's a pity, Cornehus, that we, who have only 
two hundred pounds a year each, are already fifty years of 
age. 

Cor. Humphrey, what age do we feel ? 

Humph. Thirty — not a month more. {Striking at the 
air with bothjists.) 

Cor. Right. Not an hour above thirty. {Striking 
chest, which caiises hi7n to cough?) Something definite should 
be attempted, Humphrey. 

Humph. You mean, brother — 

Cor. I mean, Humphrey — 

Humph. With regard to — 

Cor. With regard to Philhs Fleming. 

Humph. She is, she is indeed a charming girl. Her out- 
line is finely but firmly drawn ; her coloring delicate, but 
strongly accentuated ; the grouping to which she lends her- 
self always differentiated artistically ; her single attitudes de- 
signed naturally and with freedom ; her flesh tints remark- 
ably pure and sweet ; her draperies falling in artistic folds ; 
her, atmosphere softened as by the perfumed mists of morn- 
ing ; her hair tied in the simple knot which is the admiration 
and despair of many painters ; — you agree with my render- 
ing, brother Cornelius, my rendering of this incomparable 
work ? 

Cor. She is all that you say, Humphrey. From your 
standpoint nothing could be better. I judge her, however, 
from my own platform. I look on her as one of nature's 
sweetest poems ; such a poem as defies the highest effort 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 1/ 

of the greatest creative genius ; where the cadenced lines 
are sunht, and, as they ripple on, make music in your soul. 
You are rapt with their beauty ; you are saddened with the 
unapproachable magic of her charm; you feel the deepest 
emotions of the heart awakened, and beating in responsive 
harmony. And when, after long and patient watching, the 
searcher after the truth of beauty feels each verse sink 
deeper and deeper within him, till it becomes a part of his 
own nature, there arises before him, clad in mystic and trans- 
parent Coan robe, the spirit of subtle wisdom, long lying 
perdu in those magic utterances. She is a lyric ; she is a 
sonnet ; she is an epigram — 

Humph. At least, she doesn't carry a sting. 

Cor. Then let us say an idyl. But let us see what had 
better be done. 

Humph. We must act at once, Cornehus. 

Cor. We understand each other, Humphrey. We always 
do. ( Wijiking knowingly.^ 

Humph, We must make our own opportunity. Not to- 
gether, but separately. 

Cor. Surely separately. Together would never do. 

Humph. Have you — did you — can vou give me any of 
your own experiences in this way, Cornelius .'' 

Cor. I may have been wooed. Men of genius are always 
run after. But as I am a bachelor, you see, it is clear that 
I never proposed. 

Humph. When I was in Rome — 

Cor. When I was in Heidelberg — 

Humph. There was a model — a young artist's model — 

Cor. There was a httle country girl — 

Humph. With the darkest eyes, and hair of a deep blue 
black, the kind of color one seems only to read of, or to see 
in a picture. 

Cor. With blue eyes, as limpid as the waters of the 
Neckar, and light brown hair, which caught the sunshine in a 
way that one seldom seems to see, but which we poets some- 
times sing of. 

Humph. Cornelius, I think that Phillis would not like 
these reminiscences. We must offer virgin hearts. 

Cor. True, brother, we must. 

Humph. Yet the recollection is not unpleasant. (Sighs.^ 

Cor. We are not nervous, brother? 

HUxMPH. Not at all, not at all. Still, to steady the system, 
perhaps — 

Cor. Yes, you are quite right, brother. We will. {They 
both drink, takmg wme fro?n decanter on side table.') 



1 8 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Humph. What we need, Cornelius, what we need ; not 
what we wish for. {Fixes his tie, etc., i7i a nervous inanner^ 
I will tell her you wish to speak with her. {Starts^ 

Cor. Wait a moment. My heart beats so. Slower, 
slower. Now, brother, I think I am prepared. (Humphrey 
goes up and speaks aside to Phillis, who inotioiis towards 
Cornelius down l. Humphrey nods. Phillis co7nes 
down R.) 

Phil. You wished to say — Mr. Cornelius.'* 

Cor. Yes. Will you sit down, Miss Fleming? 

Phil, {aside). He is going to tell me about the " Upheav- 
ing of Alfred." ( To him.) And how does the workshop get on ? 

Cor. Fairly , well. My brother Humphrey — a noble 
creature is Humphrey, Miss Fleming — 

Phil. Is he still hard at work .^ 

Cor. His work is crushing him. Miss Fleming, — may I 
call you PhilHs 1 

Phil. Of course you may, Mr. Cornelius. We are quite 
old friends. But I am sorry to hear your brother is being 
crushed. 

Cor. To-day, Phillis, — I feel to you already like a 
brother, — to-day 1 discovered the secret of Humphrey's 
life. May I tell it you ? 

Phil. If you please. 

Cor. I will tell you the secret in a few words. My 
brother Humphrey adores you with all the simphcity and 
strength of a noble artistic nature. 

Phil. Does he 1 You mean he likes me very much. 
How good he is. I am very glad to hear it, Mr. Cornelius, 
though why it need be a secret I do not know. 

Cor. Then my poor brother, — he is all loyalty and brings 
you a virgin heart, an unsullied name, and the bright pros- 
pects of requited genius. My brother may hope? 

Phil. ,. Certainly. I should like to see him hoping. 

Cor. I will tell him, sister Phillis. You have made two 
men happy, and one at least grateful. (Goes up and whis- 
pers to Humphrey.) 

Phil. That man has been nearly twenty years engaged 
in writing the greatest poem the world ever saw, and not a 
line of it is yet written. {Looki^ig aro7ind.) Here comes 
the other, who has been occupied the same length of time on 
a painting, and to this day the brush has not touched the_ 
canvas. (Humphrey comes down beside Phillis.) •'Heis 
going to tell me that CorneHus adores me. {Aside.) 

Humph. You are peaceful and happy here, Miss Fleming, 
— may I call you Phillis ? 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. I9 

Phil. Certainly, Mr. Humphrey. We are old friends, 
you know. And I am very happy here. 

Humph. I am glad ; I am very glad indeed to hear it. 

Phil. Are you not happy, Mr. Humphrey? Why do you 
look so gloomy ? And how is the great picture getting on ? 

Humph. " The Birth of the Renaissance " is advancing 
rapidly. It will occupy a canvas fourteen feet long by six 
high. 

Phil. If you have*got the canvas, and the frame, all you 
want now is the picture. 

Humph. True as you say — the picture. It is all that I 
want. And that is striding — literally striding. I am happy, 
dear Miss Fleming, dear Phillis, since I may call you by your 
pretty Christian name. It is of my brother that I think. 
It is on his account that I feel unhappy. 

Phil. What is the matter with him ? 

Humph, He is a great, a noble fellow. His life is made 
up of sacrifices, and devoted to hard work. No one works 
so conscientiously as Cornelius. Yet he is not happy. 
There is a secret sorrow in his life. 

Phil. Oh, dear, do let me know it, and at once. Was 
there ever such a pair of devoted brothers ? 

Humph. A secret which no one has guessed but myself. 

Phil. I know what it is. (^Lmighiiig.^ 

Humph. Has he told you, Phillis ? The secret of his 
life is that my brother Cornelius is attached to you with all 
the devotion of his grand poetic soul. 

Phil. Why, that is what I thought you were going to say. 

Humph. You knew it. And you feel the response of a 
passionate nature. He shall be your Petrarch. You shall 
read his very soul. But Cornelius brings you a virgin heart, 
a virgin heart, PhiHis. May he hope that — 

Phil. Certainly he may hope, and so may you. And 
now we have had quite enough of devotion, and secrets, and 
great poetic souls. {Rises.') May I rejoin Mrs. Cassilis ? 

Humph. Certainly. (Phillis goes up, and Cornelius 
co7nes dow7i to Humphrey.) Cornelius. 

Cor. Humphrey. 

Humph. Shall we drink the health and happiness of 
Phillis ? 

Cor. We will, Humphrey. {They drink.) She knows 
that she has found a virgin heart. 

Humph, She does. Oh, Cornelius, and the little Gretch- 
en and the milk-pails. Byronic rover ! 

Cor. Ah, Humphrey, shall I tell her of the contadina, 
the black-eyed model, and the old wild days in Rome, eh ? 



20 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Don Giovanni ! {They chuckle and punch each other's ribs, 
and go up L., and stroll off over the veranda a7td off L. 
The reviaijider of the party come down?) 

Mrs. C. Will you tell us, Mr. Dunquerque, if the story 
of the bear-hunt is a true one, or did you make it up.f* 

Jack. We made up nothing. The story is perfectly true. 
And the man's name was Beck. 

Mr. C. Curious. An American, named Beck, Gilead P. 
Beck, is in London now, and has been recommended to me. 
He is extremely rich. I think, my dear, that you invited him 
to dinner to-day ? 

Mrs. C. Yes. He found he could not come, at the last 
moment. He will be here during the evening. 

Jack. Then you will see the man, unless there is more 
than one Gilead P. Beck, which is hardly hkely. 

Mr. C. This man has practically an unhmited credit. 

Mrs. C. And is that other story true, that you found an 
English traveller living all alone in a deserted city.'' 

Jack. Quite true. 

Mrs. C. Really ! And who was it ? Anybody one has 
met? 

Jack. I do not know whether you have ever met him. 
His name is Laurence Colquhoun. 

Mrs. C. {starts suddenly at the name, but gradually re- 
covers herself). Colquhoun! {To Mr. Cassilis.) My 
dear, it is an old friend of mine of whom we are speaking, 
Mr. Laurence Colquhoun. 

Phil. He is my guardian, now that Mr. Dyson is dead. 

{QxWJKkuVi^QYi?^ voice outside. ^'' All right, Ja^/ies.''^ He 
enters, l. 3.) 

Mr. C. Here is Mr. Beck now. 

Beck {meetirig Jack, c, and shaking him heartily by the 
hand). You have not forgotten me? You still think of that 
Grizzly ? 

Jack. Of course I do. I shall never forget him. 

Beck. Nor shall I, sir; never. Ladies, it is owing to 
Mr. Dunquerque that Gilead P. Beck has the pleasure of 
being in this drawing-room. Rubbed out I should have 
been, on that green and grassy spot, but for the crack of Mr. 
Dunquerque's rifle. 

Jack. It was a most charming and picturesque spot in 
which to be rubbed out. 

Beck. There air moments when the soul is dead to 
poetry. One of these moments is when you feel the breath 
of a grizzly on your cheek. 

Phil. Did he save your life ? 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 21 

Beck. Young lady, he did. 

Jack, And how is the golden butterfly ? 

Beck. That inseck, sir, is a special instrument working 
under Providence for my welfare. He slumbers at my hotel, 
the Langham, in a fire-proof safe. 

Mr. C. And how do you like our country ? 

Beck. Well, sir, a dollar goes a long way in this country, 
especially in cigars and drinks. The Engh'sh air the most 
kind-hearted people in the hull world. We air charitable, 
and I believe the Germans, when they air not officers in 
their own army, air a well disposed folk. But in America, 
when a man tumbles down the ladder, he falls hard. Here 
there's every contrivance for m,\kin' him fall soft. A man 
don't feel handsome when he's on the broad of his. back, but 
it must be a comfort for him to feel that his backbone isn't 
broke. I have a letter for you from one of our most promi- 
nent bankers. (^Hands letter.^ There's the identical docu- 
ment. 

Mr, C. I observe that you have unlimited credit. That 
is hardly what we would give to a Rothschild. 

Beck. It is my Luck. 

Mr. C. Our New York friend tells me also, Mr. Beck, 
that you would find it difficult to spend your income. 

Beck. It is my Luck. We'll come to figures, sir, and 
you shall judge as my friendly adviser. My bankers say I 
have about ^^1500 a day coming to me. 

Mr. C. Do you mean, Mr. Beck, do you actually mean 
that you are drawing a profit, a clear profit, of more than 
;^i5oo a day? 

Beck. That is about the size of it, sir, — that is the low- 
est figure. 

Mr. C. What an income ! Nothing to squander it on. 
No duties, and no responsibilities. You are unmarried, I 
believe ? 

Beck. You can bet your best boots on that little circum- 
stance at any time, and be in no danger of losing 'em. 

Mr. C. And a yearly income of five hundred thousand 
pounds. Let me — allow me to shake hands with you again. 
I had no idea I was entertaining a man of such enormous 
power. Presently you might undertake a loan with Russia, 
Austria, Turkey, Italy, or Egypt. 

Beck. Wal, sir, I am not ambitious, and I leave Provi- 
dence to manage the nations her own way. I might meddle 
and muss till I busted up the whole concern ; play, after all, 
into the hands of the devil, and have the people praying to 
get back to their old original Providence. You see it's 



22 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

thirty-three years ago since I began travelling about, twelve 

years old — the youngest of the lot. 

Jack. What did you do first ? 

Beck. Ran messages ; swept out stores ; picked up 
trades ; went handy boy to a railway engineer. Kept a vil- 
lage school at a dollar a day. Boys atid gells. Boys them- 
selves air bad ; but boys and gells mixed, they air — well, it's 
a curious and interestin' thing that, ever since that time, when 
I see gells swoopin' round with their eyes as soft as velvet 
and their sweet cheeks the color of peach, I say to myself, 
"I've seen you at school, and I know you better than you 
think." You believe, Mr. Dunquerque, that gells air soft. 
Air they ? They're sweet to look at ; but when you've tended 
school, you don't yearn after them so much. 

Mrs. C. You are rather severe, aren't you, Mr. Beck .-^ 

Beck. Not a bit. Now boys. There was one boy I 
liked. We had a fight regular every morning, at five min- 
utes past nine. Any little thing set us off. He might heave 
a desk, or a row of books, or the slates of the whole class, 
at my head. It was uncertain how it began, but that fight 
was bound to be fought. The boys expected it, and it 
pleased the gells. I was fond of Pete, and he was fond of 
me. Ways hke his, ladies and gentlemen, kinder creep 
around the heart of the lonely teacher. {To Jack.') Did 
I ever tell you my press experiences ? 

Jack. I think not. 

Beck. Wal. I was in Chicago. Fifteen years ago. I 
wanted employment. Nobody wanted me. I called on Mr. 
John B. Van Cott, the editor of the morning paper. " Wal, 
sir," he said, "you look as if you knew enough to go indoors 
when it rains." Just then there was a knock at the door, 
and a fellow with a black-dyed mustache, a diamond pin in 
his shirt-front, and a great gold chain across his vest, en- 
tered. " Who runs this machine 1 " he inquired. " I am 
the editor," said Mr. Van Cott. " Then you are the rooster 
I'm after," and he went for Mr. Van Cott lively. If they had 
been evenly matched, I should have stood around to see fair. 
But it wasn't equal. So I hitched on to the stranger and 
pulled him oflf by main force. He met my advances half 
way. In ten minutes you couldn't tell him from me, nor me 
from him. The furniture moved around cheerfully, and 
there was a lovely racket. It lasted fifteen minutes. When 
it was over, he was bruised and bleeding. Tears stood in 
his eyes as he said : " Stranger, will you tell me where you 
hail from ? " " Air you satisfied with the editorial manage- 
ment of this paper .''" said I. "I am, you bet; good morn- 
ing," said he, and left. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 23 

Mr. C. Is this horrible method of interfering with editors 
common in America ? 

Beck. In spots. I hit one of those spots. 

Jack. Did the gentleman engage you ? 

Beck. He did, permanently. It seems it was the dull 
season of the year, and I hadn't more than three such occur- 
rences a week 'till the fall elections came on, and then I had 
to hi per. 

Jack. Why don't you start a new daily ? 

Beck. I have been already thinking of it, Mr. Dun- 
querque. I shall teach some of your reviews good manners. 

Jack. But we pride ourselves on the tone of our reviews. 

Beck. Perhaps you do, sir. I have remarked that Eng- 
lishmen pride themselves on a good many things. See, Mr. 
Dunquerque, last week I read one of your high-toned re- 
views. There was an article in it on a novel. The novel 
was a young lady's novel. When I was editing the Clear' 
ville Roarer^ I couldn't have laid it on in finer style for the 
rough back of a ward politician. 

Jack. People hke it, I suppose. 

Beck. I dare say they do, sir. They used to like to see 
a woman flogs^ed at the cart-tail. I am not much of a com- 
pany man, Mr. Dunquerque ; but I believe that when a 
young lady sings a song in a drawing-room, if that young 
lady sings out of tune, it is not considered good manners to 
get up and say so ; and it isn't thought polite to snigger and 
grin. And in my country, if a man was to invite the com- 
pany to make game of that young lady, he would, perhaps, 
be requested to take a header through the window. Let 
things alone, and presently that young lac^y discovers that 
she is not likely to get cracked up as a vocaler. I shall con- 
duct my paper on the same pohte principles. !f a man 
thinks he can sing, and can't sing, let him be for a bit. 
Perhaps he will find out his mistake. If he doesn't, tell 
him gently, and if that won't do, get your liveliest writer to 
lay it on once for all. But to go sneakin' and pryin' 
around, pickin' out the poor trash, and cuttin' it up to make 
the people grin — it's mean, Mr. Dunquerque, it's mean. 
The cart-tail and the cat-o'-nine was no worse than this ex- 
hibition. 

Mrs. C. Quite an eventful life you have had, Mr. Beck. 
(^Rises.) Now, as the evening is delightful, shall we take a 
little stroll in the garden. We shall be delighted to listen 
to more of your reminiscences, Mr. Beck. 

Beck. Thank you, ma'am, most happy. {Offers arm, 
which she accepts.) 



24 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Mrs. C. Mr. Cassilis, will you come, and Mr. Dun- 
qiierque, will you bring Phillis ? 

Beck (as they are goitig out). I might relate a circum- 
stance connected with my editing the Clearville Roarer. 
(Exeunt Beck, Mr. and Mrs. Cassilis c. to l.) 

Phil. I want my wrap. Mr. Dunquerque, will you be so 
kind as to hand it to me from' a chair in the next room .? 

Jack. Certainly. (Exit R. 3, and i7nmediately re-enters 
with wrap.) 

Phil, (taking wrap). How beautiful it must be to meet 
a man whose life you have saved. I should like — once — 
just once — to do a single great action, and dream of it ever 
after. 

Jack. But mine was not a great action. I shot a bear 
which was following Mr. Beck and meant mischief; that is 
all. 
. Phil. But you might have missed, and then Mr. Beck 
would have been killed. 

Jack. Most true, Miss Fleming. 

Phil. It seems so strange to be called Miss Fleming. 
Everybody used to call me PhilHs. 

Jack. Everybody calls me Jack. 

Phil. Jack ! What a pretty name Jack is ! May I call 
you Jack ? 

Jack. If you only would. 

Phil. I shall always call you Jack, then. 

Jack. And what am I to call you ? 

Phil. My name is PhiUis, you know. 

Jack. Phillis is a very sweet name. But it would be 
prettier to call you Phil. 

Phil. Phil. Phil. That is very pretty. No one ever 
called me Phil before. 

Jack. And we will be great friends, shall we not? 

Phil. Yes, great friends. 

Jack. Let us shake hands over our promise. (Enter 
Mrs. Cassilis q. from l.) We must join the others. Why, 
here is Mrs. Cassihs ! 

Mrs. C. Why did you not join us ? I came to look for 
you, and to procure a wrap. Mr. Beck is relating some very 
amusing incidents. 

Phil. Oh, Jack, — I mean Mr. Dunquerque, let's go. 

Jack. By all means. (Exeunt c. to l.) 

Mrs. C. (down r., takiftg wrap off chair, a7id putting it 
on). Jack ! The first step. (As she goes towards c. she 
encounters Laurence Colquhoun, who enters l. 3.) 

Lau. I am here. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 25 

Mrs. C, Laurence. 

Lau. My name is Colquhoun, Mrs. Cassilis. 

Mrs. C. My name, Laurence, is Victoria. Have you 
forgotten that? 

Lau. I have forgotten everything, Mrs. Cassihs. It is 
best to forget everything. 

Mrs. C. But if you cannot ! Oh, Laurence, if you cannot. 

Lau. This is mere fooHshness, Mrs. Cassilis. As a 
stranger, a perfect stranger, may I ask why you call me by 
my Christian name, and why these tears .? 

Mrs. C. Strangers ! it is ridiculous. It is ridiculous, 
when all the world knows that we were once friends, and 
half the world thought that we were going to be something 
— nearer. 

Lau. Nearer — and dearer, Mrs. Cassilis .'' What a fool- 
ish world it was. Suppose we had become nearer, and there- 
fore very much less dear. 

Mrs. C. Be kind to me, Laurence. 

Lau. I will be whatever you like, Mrs. Cassilis, except 
what I was — provided you do not call me Laurence any 
more. In deference to your wishes I transported myself for 
four years. Then I saw the announcement of your marriage 
in the paper by accident. And I came here again, because 
of your own free will and accord you had given me my re- 
lease. Is this true .'' 

Mrs. C. Yes. 

Lau. Then, in the name of Heaven, why seek to revive 
the past. BeHeve me, I have forgotten the few days of mad- 
ness and repentance. They are gone. Some ghosts of the 
past come to me, but they do not take the shape of Victoria 
Pengelley. 

Mrs. C. Suppose we cannot forget? 

Lau. Then we 7mist forget. Victoria, — Mrs. Cassilis, 
rouse yourself Think of what you are, — what you have 
made yourself. 

Mrs. C. I do think. I think every day. 

Lau. You have a husband and a child ; you have your 
position in the world. Mrs. Cassilis, you have your honor. 

Mrs. C. My honor! What honor? And if all were 
known. Laurence, don't you ever pity me ? 

Lau. Heroics, Mrs. Cassilis. Are you not overdoing it ? 
You almost make me remember a scene — call it a dream — 
which took place in a certain Glasgow hotel about four years 
and a half ago. 

Mrs. C. Let us not quarrel. It is foolish to quarrel, 
after four years and more of absence. 



26 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Lau. You told me you had something to say to me. 
What is it? 

Mrs. C. I wanted to say this: When we two parted, you 
used bitter words. You told me that I was heartless, cold, 
and bad-tempered. Those were the words you used. 

Lau. By Gad I believe they were. We had a blazing 
row. 

Mrs. C. I might retaliate on you. 

Lau. Come, Mrs. Cassilis, it is no use. I cannot help 
you. I would not if I could. Hang it ! it would be too 
ridiculous for me to interfere. Think of the situation. 
Here we are, we three. I first, you in the middle, and Mr. 
Cassilis third. You and I know, and he does not suspect. 
On the stage, the man who does not suspect always looks 
a fool. Make yourself miserable if you hke, and make 
me uncomfortable, but for Heaven's sake don't make us all 
ridiculous. 

Mrs. C. After that dreadful day I went back to the old 
life. Two years passed away. You were gone — never to re- 
turn, as you said. Mr. Cassilis came. 

Lau. Well.? 

Mrs. C. Well, I was poor. I saw a chance for freedom. 
Mr. Cassilis offered me that, at least. And I accepted him. 

Lau. Very well, Mrs. Cassihs, very well. If you are 
satisfied, of course no one has the right to say a word. After 
all, no one has any cause to fear except yourself. For me, I 
certainly shall hold my tongue. It would be so beautifully 
explained by Sergeant Smoothtongue. " Six years ago, gen- 
tlemen of the jury, a man, no longer in the bloom of early 
youth, was angled for and hooked by a lady who employed a 
kind of tackle comparatively rare in English society. She 
was a fevime incomprise. She despised the little ways of 
women ; she was full of infinite possibilities ; she was going 
to lead the world, if only she could get the chance. And 
then, gentlemen of the jury, then — " 

{Ente?- Mr. Cassilis c. fro7n L,, and co7nes down R. 
Mrs. Cassilis rises.) 

Mrs. C. {to Mr. Cassilis). My dear, let me introduce 
Mr. Colquhoun, a very old friend of mine. 

Mr. C. I am glad, Mr. Colquhoun, to know you. I have 
heard of you. 

Mrs. C. Pray sit down, Mr. Colquhoun, unless you will 
go on with your description. Mr. Colquhoun, who has just 
returned from America, my dear, was giving me a vivid ac- 
count of some American trial scene which he witnessed. 

Lau. {aside). Now which looks the fool? 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 2/ 

Beck {enters at back a7td recognizes Laurence). The 
hermit of Empire City, by the living jingo ! 

(Laurence l., unconcerned. Mrs. Cassilis c, perfectly 
calm. Mr. Cassilis r., quite satisfied. Jack, Gilead 
Beck, and Phillis enter at back.) 

Curtain. 



ACT IL 



Scene. — Laurence Colquhoun's apartments at the Al- 
bany. Table c, with reading-lamp upon it., with green 
shade. Fireplace l. Chairs about. Sofa r. Laurence 
seated in large chair before fire ^ smoking. Gilead Beck 
C. Jack Dunquerque stretched on sofa, smoking, r. 
Window c, with heavy drapery. Room fitted with dark 
walls, dark fur^iiture and carpet, all in the Oriental 
style. Chandelier over table, lighted; also the reading- 
lamp. Doors R. 3 and L. 3. 

Beck. I call this kind, boys. I call this friendly. I 
asked myself last night, " Will those boys see me, or will 
they let the ragged Yankee slide ? " And here I am. Now 
if you should be curious, gentlemen, to know my history 
since I left you in San Francisco, I will tell you from the 
beginning. You remember that inseck, the Golden But- 
terfly ? 

Jack. In the little box? I asked you after his welfare 
last week. By the way, before you begin, I ought to tell you 
that since we came home, we have written a book, Ladds and 
myself, about our travels. 

Beck. Is that so ? 

Jack. And we have put you into it, with an account of 
Empire City. 

Beck. Gentlemen, I shall buy that book. I shall take 
five hundred copies of that book. Just as I was, you say — 
no boots, but moccasins ; not a dollar, nor a cent ; running 
for bare life before a grizzly. 

Jack. Thank you. 

Beck. Well, I went off, after I left you, by the Pacific 
Railway, and I landed in New York. New York City is not 
the village I should recommend to a man without dollars in 



28 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

his pocket. Fiji, p'r'aps, for one who has a yearning after 
bananas and black civilization. But not New York. No, 
gentlemen ; if you go to New York, let it be when you've 
made your pile, and not before ; then you can walk into Del- 
monico's as if the place belonged to you. I left that city, and 
made my way North, till I found myself in the city of Lim- 
erick on Lake Ontario. You do not know the city of Lim- 
erick, I dare say. 

Jack. Haven't that pleasure. 

Beck. Well I have, and it was the darnedest misbegotten 
location, built around a swamp, that ever called itself a city. 
There were a few deluded farmers trying to persuade them- 
selves that things would look up, for they couldn't do much 
else, since they were flat on their back. You never saw such 
a helpless lot. I did not stay among them because I loved 
them, but because I saw things. 

Lau. Ghosts ? 

Beck. Ghosts be blowed. No, sir. That was what they 
thought I saw when I went prowhng around of an evening. 
They thought, too, that I was mad when I began to buy 
land. You could buy it for nothing ; a dollar an acre ; half a 
dollar an acre ; anything an acre. I've mended a cartwheel 
for a five-acre lot of swamp. 1 saw that they were walking, 
— no, sleeping, — over fields of incalculable wealth, and they 
never suspected. They smoked their pipes, and ate their 
pork. Between whiles they praised the Lord for sending 
them a fool like me. 

Lau. And what did you see when you looked about ? 

Beck. I saw, sir, a barren bog. The barrenest, boggiest 
part of it all was my claim. And to think that those mean 
pork-raisers saw it all the same as I did, and never sus- 
pected. 

Jack. And you found what ? Gold ? 

Beck. No, I found what I expected. And that was 
better than gold. Mind, I say nothing against gold. Gold 
has made many a pretty little fortune — 

Jack. Little ! 

Beck. Little, sir. There's no big fortunes made out of 
gold. Diamonds again. One or two men like the name of 
diamonds, but not many. There's the disadvantage about 
gold and diamonds — that you have to dig for them, and to 
dig darned hard, and to dig for yourself mostly. But, gentle- 
men, the greatest gift the airth has to bestow, she gave to 
me, — abundant, spontaneous, etarnal, without bottom, and 
free. 

Jack. And that is — {Sitting up^ interested^ 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 29 

Beck {rising to his feet, and striking the table). It is 
//<?, He! Gold means rheumatism and a bent back. lie 
flows. I knew it was there, because I had been in Pennsyl- 
vania and learned the signs. Boring a well is not quite the 
sort of work a man would select for a pleasant and varie- 
gated occupation. Day after day I bored. It was the ninth 
day and noon, I was taking my dinner, which consisted on 
that day and all days of cold boiled pork and bread. 

Jack. Ah, yah ! 

Beck. Yes, sir, my own remark every day, when I sat 
down to that simple banquet. In those days, gentlemen, I 
said no grace. It didn't seem to me that the most straight- 
walking Christian was expected to be more than tolerably 
thankful for cold pork. 

Lau. And while you were eating the pork, the Golden 
Butterfly flew down the shaft and struck oil of his own 
account. 

Beck. No, sir ; for once you air wrong. Nobody went 
down. But something came up — up like a fountain, up like 
the bubbling over of the airth's etarnal teapot ; a black 
muddy jet of stuflf. Great sun ! I think I see it now. 

Jack. But the oil may run dry. 

Beck. Never. What is this world, gentlemen ? 

Jack. A round ball. 

Beck. Sir, it is like a great orange. It has its outer rind, 
what they call the crust. I've got my pipe straight into the mid- 
dle of the orange, and right through the crust. Other mines 
may give out, but my ile will run forever. 

Jack. Then we may congratulate you on the possession 
of a boundless fortune. 

Beck. You may, sir. It is my Luck. And I, sir, have 
struck ile as it never was struck before, because my well 
goes down to the almighty reservoir of this great world. 

Jack, And what do you intend to do .'' 

Beck. Well, first I want to meet your great men. Not 
to interview them, sir, not at all. They may talk a donkey's 
hind leg off", and I wouldn't send a single line to the New 
York papers to tell them what was said, or what they wore. 
But I should hke, just for one evening, to meet and talk with 
the great writers whom we respect across the water. 

Jack. Suppose I am able to get together half a dozen or 
so of our greatest writers, how should we manage to entertain 
them ? 

Beck. I should like to give them a good square meal at 
the Langham. 

Jack. To tell you the truth, I have anticipated your de- 



30 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

sire, and mentioned the subject to several personally. I told 
them you were an American gentleman with no letters of 
introduction, but a sincere admirer of their genius. 

Beck. Heap it up, Mr. Dunquerque. Heap it up. Tell 
them I am death on appreciation. 

Jack. That is in substance what I did tell them. " On the 
one hand," I said, " my friend, Gilead P. Beck" — I ventured 
to say, " my friend, Gilead P. Beck." 

Beck. If you hadn't said that, you should have been 
scalped and gouged. Go on, Mr. Dunquerque ; go on, sir. 

Jack. " Will feel himself honored by your company ; on 
the other hand, it will be a genuine source of pleasure for 
you to know that you are as well known and as thoroughly 
appreciated on the other side of the water as you are here." 
Most of the writing swells will come either on Wednesday 
next, or on any other day you please. 

Beck. Tell me, if you please, who they are. 

Jack. First of all you would like to see the old philoso- 
pher of Cheyne Walk, Thomas Carlyle, as your guest.'* 

Beck. Carlyle, sir, is a name to conjure with in the 
States. When I was editor of the Clearville Roarer^ I had 
an odd volume of Carlyle, and I used to quote him as long as 
the book lasted. It perished in a fight. 

Jack. What do you say of Professor Huxley and Mr. 
Darwin ? 

Beck. I should say they were prominent citizens if I 
knew what they'd written. Is Professor Huxley a professing 
Christian? There was a Prof. Habakkuk Huckster once, 
down Empire City way, in the Moody and Sankey business, 
with an interest in the organs, and a percentage on the hymn 
books ; but they're not relations, I suppose ? And the other 
genius — what is his name — Darwin t Grinds novels 
perhaps t 

Jack. Historical works of fiction. Great in genealogy is 
Darwin. 

Beck. Jenny who ? 

Jack. Genealogy. 

Beck. Oh. It's all right, I suppose. I never heard of 
her before, though. There used to be a Jenny Alger down 
to Patrick's Camp, who danced for a living ; and she could 
sHng a lively hoof, you can just bet. Never mind my igno- 
rance, Mr. Dunquerque, and go on, sir. I'm powerful 
interested. 

Jack. Ruskin is coming ; and I had thought of Robert 
Browning, the poet ; but I am afraid he may not be able to be 
present. However, there are Tennyson and Swinburne. 
Buchanan I would ask, if I knew him, but I don't. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 3 1 

Beck. Next Wednesday. That gives only four days. 
Professor Huxley. I suppose I can buy that clergyman's 
sermons .'' And the universal genius who reels out the his- 
torical romances, Mr, Darwin. I shall get his works, too. 
And there's Mr. Ruskin, and Mr. Robert Browning — 

Jack. What are you going to do ? 

Beck. Well, Mr. Dunquerque, I am going to devote the 
next four days from morning till night t(J solid preparation 
for that evening. I shall go out right away, and I shall buy 
every darned book Mr. Whiting, — no, Blacking, — I mean 
Browning, — and those other great men have written ; and if I 
sit up every night over the job, I'm bound to read every 
word. 

Jack. To begin with, then, I have invited a poet and a 
painter to meet you here this evening — Messrs. Humphrey 
and Cornelius Jagenal, and it is quite time they were here. 

Lau. There are steps on the stairs now, Jack. 

Jack. It must be the twins. 

Beck. Produce your twins. 

Jack. I ought to tell you first that they are great men. 
Men of genius, whom you should also invite to the banquet. 

Beck. I can see them eating there now, sir. 

Jack. And perhaps become their patron. 

Beck. I'll patronize them faster than they can write or 
daub. 

Jack. You may be obliged to converse on the subject of 
pictures and poetry ; are you up to that ? 

Beck. Wal, I might be able to tell the picture from the 
frame, or poetry from prose, but I'll be darned if I believe 
I could tell blue from green, or elephant's breath from 
mouse's sneeze, if I was to go to thunder. {Ktiock at 
door.) 

Lau. Enter. {Pause.) Enter. {Another pause.) Come 
in. {Enter Cornelius and Humphrey Jagenal l. 3 e.) 

Jack. Mr. Beck, this is Mr. CorneHus Jagenal. 

Cor. {bows). Mr. Beck, allow me to introduce my brother, 
Humphrey Jagenal. In his case the world is satisfied with 
the Christian name alone without the ceremonial prefix. He 
is, as you know, the artist. 

Beck. Sir, I am proud indeed to make your acquaint- 
ance. I am but a rough man myself, sir, but I respect 
genius. 

Humph. Then allow me to introduce my brother. Cor- 
nelius Jagenal, as you doubtless know, Mr. Beck, is the 
poet. 

Beck. Sir, I have been knocking about the world, and 



32 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

have not read any poetry since I was a boy. Now let's 
start fair. Sit down, gentlemen. Will you take anything ? 

Cor. and Humph. {looki7ig at each other perplexed). 
Anything .? 

Beck. In California, up country, we always begin with a 
drink. 

Cor. Thank you, sir. Humphrey, do we need it? 

Humph. Perhaps, not absolutely — still — 

Cor. Still, brother — 

Humph. We might take — 

Cor. Just a li.tle — 

Humph. Drop. 

Cor. Yes, brother. 

Humph, and Cor. Ahem ! 

Beck. Don't be backward about coming forward, gentle- 
men. Here's the nectar. {Pours champagne. As he is about 
to hand it to the?n, and while they are reaching forward eager- 
ly^ still trying to disguise their eagerness^ he withdraws it^ 
much to their disappointment^ Perhaps, though, you pre- 
fer something different .'* 

Humph, and Cor. Ah, no ! {Quickly^ 

Beck. This may be too dry. 

Humph, and Cor. Not in the least. We prefer it dry. 

Beck. Perhaps you prefer water ? 

Humph, and Cor. Water ! {Unable to conceal their 
disgust.) No, water is too wet. 

Beck. If you do, say so. Far be it from me to hold the 
glass to any man's lips against his incHnation. In the silver 
mines I've seen a man threatened with a bowie for refusing a 
drink. 

Humph. A man threatened with a boy ? 

Beck. Yes, sir, and I've known temperate men anxiou$ 
for peace take drinks, when they were offered, till their back 
teeth were under whiskey. 

Humph. Cornelius, did you ever hear of a man threatened 
with a boy ? 

Cor. Never, brother, never ! 

Humph. Mr. Beck, how could the man be threatened 
with a boy .? 

Beck {spells it). Bowie, not boy. Bowie, a large knife 
named from Colonel Bowie. Cut, rip, slash, you know. 

Humph. Oh ! American, you know. 

Beck. Well, do you drink ? 

Humph. We will not — be threatened with a bowie. 

CoR. We will venture the champagne. 

Humph. We will 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 33 

Beck. Champagne it is then. (^Handing champagne^ 

Cor. {holdijtg up glass). " At last we meet." 

Humph. "Parting is such sweet sorrow." 

Cor. {after driJtkiiig).. " 'Tis gone, I am a man again." 

Humph. "We met by chance in the usual way." 

Beck. I wonder if he is in the habit of getting all his 
drinks in this way. {Aside.) 

Cor. " Now could I drink hot blood." 

Beck {aside). The blood-thirsty wretch. 

Jack {to Beck). Quotation. 

Beck. Oh ! I see. From some of his poems. That's a 
good thing. "Now could I drink hot blood." I'll remember 
that. Now, gentlemen, may I be allowed to talk business. 
{They nod.) Genius, gentlemen, is apt to be careless of the 
main chance. I don't care for the almighty dollar ; it lets 
fellows like me heap up the stamps. What can we do but 
ask genius to dig into our pile. 

Humph, {pouring another glass of champagne from the 
bottle., which he has kept in his hand). Cornehus, Mr. Beck, 
so far as I understand him, speaks the strongest common 
sense. 

Cor. We agree with you so far, Mr. Beck. {Drinking^ 

Beck. Why, then, we are agreed. Gentlemen, I say to 
you both collectively, let me usher into the world those 
works of genius which you are bound to produce. You, sir, 
{to Humphrey) are painting a picture. When can you fin- 
ish me that picture '^. 

Humph. In six months. 

Beck. What is the subject of that picture ? 

Humph. " The Birth of the Renaissance." An allegori- 
cal picture. There will be two hundred and twenty-three 
figures in the composition. It v/ill occupy a canvas fourteen 
feet long by six high. 

Beck. Make it as paregorical as you please, and I should 
like to introduce a few more figures, say, make it three hun- 
dred and sixty-five, that is one for each day in the year, and 
throw in a baby for the odd quarter of a day. 

Humph. It shall be done. 

Beck. I buy that picture, sir, at your own price. And 
you, Mr. Cornelius Jagenal, are engaged upon a poem. And 
what might be the subject of that ? 

Cor. " The Upheaving of Alfred." In the darkest mo- 
ments of Alfred's life, while he is hiding amidst the Somer- 
setshire morasses, comes the Spirit of his Career, and guides 
him in a vision step by step to his crowning triumphs. 

Beck. Sho ! I charge myself, sir, if you will allow me, 



34 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

with the production of that work. And I shall send you, 
gentlemen, a small check each in advance. 

Humph, and Cor. {risitig). Oh, sir. 

Cor. Brother, oughtn't we to drink Mr. Beck's health ? 

Humph. Brother, we had. {They drink^ 

Beck (as they drink). " Now could 1 drink hot blood." 
That's a good thing ; I like it. 

Cor. What did you observe? 

Beck. If you would favor me further, gentlemen, by din- 
ing with me, — next Wednesday, — I should take it as a great 
distinction. I hope, with the assistance of Mr. Dunquerque, 
to have a few prominent men of letters to meet you. 

Cor. Can we, brother Humphrey '^. 

Humph, {stops andporiders, theti takes ineinorandum from 
pocket and consults it). We can, Mr. Beck. 

Beck. Consider it settled then. {Turns to Jack.) 

Humph. This is a memorable day, brother. The glasses 
are empty — allow me. {They are slightly tipsy?) 

Cor. I will. {They drittk.) 

Beck. " Now could I drink hot blood." That's darned 
good. 

Cor, You observed — 

Beck. Nothing, sir, nothing. 

Cor. Oh. 

Humph. Brother, are we nervous } 

Cor. a little, brother. 

Humph. Perhaps another — 

Cor. Perhaps it would. 

Humph, {tuj-ning up bottle). Brother, there is no more. 

Cor. {taking bottle). What a hollow mockery is this. 

Humph. Perhaps we had better not drink. 

Cor. Perhaps. 

Humph. Brother, are we ready ? {Locking arms ^ 

Cor. We are. 

Humph, and Cor. Good night, gentlemen. 

Beck and Jack. Good night. (Cornelius ^;2^ Humph- 
rey start with the right foot forward like soldiers. They 
reel a little. Cornelius uses the bottle to 77iark titjte a la 
drunt major. They exeujit L, 3 e.) 

Lau. {waking and yawning). Are they gone ? 

Beck. They air. Odd people, eh, Mr. Dunquerque ? 

Jack. Eccentricities of genius. You will find such peo- 
ple very eccentric. 

Beck. Now, boys, I must go too. That inseck will be 
lonesome without me, and there might be an airthquake, and 
I not there to prevent his dissolution. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 35 

Jack. I'll go along with you. 

Lau. Don't hurry, gentlemen. {Rising.') 

Beck (taking hat). Come along, Mr. Dunquerque ; I 
want you to tell me those fellows' names again. " Now could 
I drink hot blood." That's a darned good thing. {Exit 
L. 3 E.) 

Jack {to Laurence). There'll be sport at that dinner. 

Lau. You haven't invited those men, have you ? 

Jack. No. It's a masquerade, but he has swallowed it. 

Lau. I shall not come. 

Jack. I shall, just for the sport. Good night. {Exit 
L. 3 E.) 

Lau. {yawning). Oh, dear, I'm quite sleepy to-night 
somehow. I think I'll retire early. {Turns out gas of chan- 
delier. Takes up novel from table., and, after throwing ofj^ 
coat and puttijig 07i dressing-gowti, seats himself before the 
fire, L. 2. Reads a moment., then throws down book.) I 
can't read. It's that infernal woman. She is up to some 
mischief; I feel it. I wish to Heaven I had gone on living in 
Empire City with my pair of villainous Chinamen. At least 
I was free from her over there. And when I saw her mar- 
riage, by Gad, I thought that was a finisher. Then, like a 
fool I came home. What's that ! There's a light footstep 
in the hall! {The door opens., L. 3, aiid Mrs. Cassilis 
cfiters.) 

Lau. You here ! 

Mrs. C. What is this?- What does this letter mean, Lau- 
rence ? {Showing letter.) 

Lau. Exactly what it says, Mrs. Cassilis. May I ask 
is it customary for married ladies to visit single gentlemen in 
their chambers and at night .'* 

Mrs. C. Do not ask foohsh questions. Tell me what 
this means, I say. 

Lau. It means that my visits to your house have been 
too frequent, and that they will be discontinued. 

Mrs. C. You think you are going to play fast and loose 
with me twice in your life, and you are mistaken ; you shall 
not. Years ago you showed me what you are — cold, treach- 
erous, and crafty. 

Lau. Go on, Victoria ; I hke that kind of thing. Quite in 
your best style. 

Mrs. C. You may use harsh language to me, Laurence ; 
you may sneer at me ; but one thing I can say for you. that 
you understand me. 

Lau. I have seen all your moods, Mrs. Cassilis. and I 
have a good memory. If you will show your husband that 



36 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

the surface of the ocean may be stormy sometimes, he will 
understand you a good deal better. Get up a little breeze 
for him. 

Mrs. C I am certainly not going to get up a vulgar 
quarrel with Mr. Cassilis. 

Lau. a vulgar quarrel ? Vulgar ? Ah, vulgarity 
changes every five years or so. What a pity that vulgar 
quarrels were in fashion six years ago, Mrs. Cassilis. 

Mrs. C. Some men are not worth losing your temper 
about. 

Lau. Thank you. I was, I suppose. It was very kind 
of you, indeed, to remind me of it, as you then did, in a man- 
ner at once forcible and not to be forgotten. Mr. Cassilis 
gets nothing, I suppose, but east wind with a cloudless sky, 
which has the sun in it, but only the semblance of warmth. 
I get a good sou'wester. But take care, take care, Mrs. 
Cassilis. , I remember when I was kneeling at your feet, 
years ago, talking the usual nonsense about being unworthy 
of you. Rubbish ! I was more than worthy of you, because 
I could give myself to you loyally, and you — you could only 
pretend. 

Mrs. C. Go on, Laurence. It is something that you 
regret the past. 

Lau. Prick me and I sing out. That is natural. But we 
^will have no heroics. What I mean is that I am well out of 
it ; and that you, Victoria Cassilis, are — forgive the plain 
speaking — a foolish woman. 

Mrs. C. Laurence Colquhoun has the right to insult me 
as he pleases, and I must bear it. 

Lau. I have no right, and you know it. Let me finish. 
What ycu please, in 3'our sweet, romantic way, to call " second 
desertion," must be and shall be. 

Mrs. C. Then I will know the reason why. 

Lau. I have told you the reason why. Don't be a fool, 
Mrs. Cassilis. Ask yourself what you want. Do you want 
me to run away with you ? I am a lazy man, I know, and I 
generally do what people ask me to do, but as for that thing, 
I am damned if I do it. 

Mrs. C. Insult me, Laurence ; swear at me as you will. 

Lau. Do you wish me to philander about your house like 
a ridiculous tame cat till all the world cries out ? 

Mrs. C. {starting to her feet). No ! I care nothing about 
your coming and going. But I know why — oh, I know why 
— you make up this lame excuse about my good name — 7ny 
good name. As if you ever cared about that. 

Lau. More than you cared about it yourself. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 37 

Mrs. C. It is Phillis Fleming, your ward. I saw it from 
the first. You began by taking her away from me, and plac- 
ing her with your cousin, where you could have her com- 
pletely under your own influence. 

Lau. Jealousy, by Gad. Did ever mortal hear of such a 
thing ? Jealousy ! and after all that she has done — 

Mrs. C. I warn you. You may do a good many things. 
You may deceive and insult me in any way except one. But 
you shall never, never marry Phillis Fleming. Before I go 
you shall make me a promise, Laurence, — you used to keep 
your promises, — to act as if this miserable letter had not 
been written. 

Lau. I shall promise nothing of the kind. 

Mrs. C. Then, remember, Laurence, — you shall never 
marry Phillis Fleyning ! Not if I have to stop it by pro- 
claiming my own disgrace, — you shall not marry that girl, 
or any other girl. I have that power over you, at any rate. 
Now I shall go. 

Lau. There is some one on the stairs. Perhaps he is 
coming here. You had better not be seen. {^She hides be- 
hind curtains^ c. Enter^ L. 3 E., Mr. Gabriel Cassilis.) 

Mr. C. I came up this evening, Colquhoun. Are you 
quite alone ? 

Lau. As you see, Mr. Cassilis. And what gives me the 
pleasure of this late call from you ? 

Mr. C I thought I would come — I came to say — {^Sits^ 

Lau. Glad to see you always, Mr. Cassilis. You came 
to speak about some money matters ? I have an engagement 
in five minutes ; but we shall have time, I dare say. 

Mr. C. An engagement '^. Ah ! a lady, perhaps. 

Lau. a lady ? Yes — yes, a lady. 

Mr. C. Young men — young men. Well, I will not keep 
you. I came here to speak to you about — about my 
wife. 

Lau. Oh, Lord ! I beg your pardon, — about Mrs. 
Cassilis ? 

Mr. C. Yes ; it is a very stupid business. You have 
known her for a long time. 

Lau. I have, Mr. Cassilis, — for nearly eight years. 

Mr. C. Ah, old friends ; and once, I believe, people 
thought — 

Lau. Once, Mr. Cassilis, I myself thought — I cannot 
tell you what I thought Victoria Pengelley might be to me. 
But that is over long since. {Aside.) One for her. 

Mr. C. Over long since. There was nothing in it, then ? 

Lau. We were two persons entirely dissimilar in dispo- 



38 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

sition, Mr. Cassilis. Perhaps I was not worthy of her — her 
cahn, clear judgment. {Aside.) Another for her. 

Mr. C. Victoria is outwardly cold, yet capable of the 
deepest emotions. Foolish gossip has been at work connect- 
ing 3^our names. I think the best thing, without saying any- 
thing to Victoria, who must never suspect — 

Lau. Never suspect. 

Mr. C. That I ever heard this absurdity. But we must 
guard her from calumny, Colquhoun. Caesar's wife, you 
know, and — and — I think that perhaps if you were to be a 
little less frequent in your calls — and — 

Lau. 1 quite understand, Mr. Cassihs ; and I am not in 
the least offended. I assure you most sincerely — I wish 
Mrs. Cassilis were hereto listen — that I am deeply sorry 
for having innocently put you to the pain of saying this. 
However, the world shall have no further cause for gossip. 

Mr. C. Thank you, Colquhoun. It is good of you to 
take this most unusual request so kindly. With such a wife 
as mine, jealousy would be absurd. But I have to keep her 
name from even a breath — even a breath. 

Lau. Quite right, Mr. Cassilis. 

Mr. C. Snug quarters for a bachelor, — ah, I lived in 
lodgings always myself. I thought I heard a woman's voice 
as I came up stairs. 

Lau. From Sir Richard de Counterpane's rooms, down- 
stairs, perhaps. 

Mr. C. Ay, ay. This window looks out upon — 

Lau. Yes, but the blinds are closed. {Stopping htjn.') 

Mr. C. Ah, yes, and your bedroom is there^ I suppose. 
{Indicating R. 3.) 

Lau. Yes. 

Mr. C. {standing in door, looking hi). Ah, hermit-like. 
Now, / like a large bed. 

Lau. {standi)ig just behind him, 7notions vigorously for 
Mrs. Cassilis to leave, and stakes a sound as if frightening 
a cat. Mrs. Cassilis exit l. 3). 

Mr. C. What is that? 

Lau Nothing. I was merely disturbing the cat. 

Mr. C. Ah, yes. However, Fm glad 1 came. {Com- 
ing c.) One word, Colquhoun, is better than a thousand 
letters ; and you are sure you do not misunderstand me .'* 
( Takijig hat and starting towards door, L.) 

Lau. Quite. 

Mr. C. No jealousy at all. 

Lau. Certainly not. 

Mr. C. Nothing but a desire to — to — 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 39 

Lau. I understand perfectly. 

Mr. C. {listening at opefi door'). Very odd! Coming up, 
I heard a woman's voice. Now, it seems as if there were a 
woman's feet. 

Lau. Nerves, perhaps. I hear nothing. 

Mr. C. Nor do I now. Nerves — ah, yes — nerves. 
{Exit L. 3.) 

Lau. If ever I get caught in a trap like that again, I hope 
I may choke. {Throwing himself i?ito chair.) 

Curtain. 



ACT in. 



Scene. — Gilead P. Beck's apartments at the Langham. 
Very richly furnished. Pictures on the walls. Fireplace 
R. Reading-table C, covered with books in confusion. 
Books i?i chairs and on the floor in the iitmost coiifnsion. 
Beck discovered with book, reading. In a moment he 
raps his head as if in a quandary . Then, after reading 
another moment, lays the book on the table a7id walks the 
floor rubbifig his forehead. Then returns to book. In 
another tnoment rises and goes to water-pitcher and wets 
a towel J and comes back to chair, and bitids the towel about 
his head. Reads again. Puts feet on table, and leans 
back. Changes position again in a moment. At length 
drops the book on table in despair. 

Beck. This is the beginning of the end, Gilead P. Beck. 
The Lord, to try you, sent his blessed ile, and you've re- 
ceived it with a proud stomach. Now you air going off your 
head. Plain English, and you can't take in a single sen- 
tence. There was no softenin' yesterday, why should there 
be to-day ? Softenin' comes by degrees. Let us try 
again. Great Jehosaphat! I'd rather fight John Hal- 
kett over again! I'd rather sit with my finger on a trig- 
ger for a week! It's like the texts of a copybook. Pretty 
things, all of them, separate. Put them together, and where 
are they .'' I guess this book would read better upsy down. 
{Reads again for a moment, then turns to the title page.) 
" Fifine at the Fair," by Robert Browning. Yes, it's all 
regular. Mr. Dunquerque told me it was light reading. 
Then it must be mej it must be me. {Reads again for a 



40 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

moment^ and twists his jaw and his body, until at length in 
a rage he flings the book ifito the fire, juinpitig to his feet) 
Caesar's ghost! The human jaw isn't built that could stand 
it. I'll make light reading of it. '■'■Now could I drink hot 
blood." {Rages across the room. Enter Jack Dunquer- 
QUE, c.) 

Jack. What is the matter ? 

Beck. Matter? Great Falls, New Hampshire! Robert 
Browning is the matter! " Fifine at the Fair" is the mat- 
ter! " Paracelsus " is the matter! That's what's the mat- 
ter! (Jack laughs?) Look here, I have a favor to ask you. 
If you have not yet asked Mr. Robert Browning to the little 
spread, don't. 

Jack. Certainly not, if you wish it. Why ? 

Beck. Because, sir, I have spent eight hours over his 
works. 

Jack. I thought you were merely going to give them a 
cursory reading .'* 

Beck. Cursory ? Cursory ? Damn 'em, that's what I've 
been doing for the last eight hours. 

Jack {latighing'). And you think you have gone off your 
head.'' I'll tell you a secret. Everybody does at first, and 
then we all fall into the dodge, and go about pretending to 
understand him. 

Beck. But the meaning, Mr. Dunquerque, the meaning ? 

Jack. Hush! he hasn't got any. Only no one dares to 
say so ; and it's intellectual to admire him. 

Beck. Intellectual, is it.'' Listen to this from "Paracel- 
sus." {Takes book and reads, making very hard work of 
the hard words. ^ "Here Oecolampadius, looking worlds of 
wit, Here Castellanus, as profound as he, Munsterus here, 
Frobenius tltere — " Jerusalem crickets! That's the sort 
of stuff I've been giving " cursory " readings. Well, Mr. 
Dunquerque, I guess I don't want to see that writer at my 
dinner anyhow, for if he talks as he writes, I shall have 
to be carried out on a shutter with a broken jaw. 

Jack. Very well, then, he shall not come. I'll stop him. 

Beck. By the bye, Mr. Dunquerque, there's one man I 
should like to see at my table, and you haven't mentioned 
him. 

Jack. Who's that ? 

Beck. Mr. Shakespeare. 

Jack. So should I, but I am afraid that would be diffi- 
cult to arrange. 

Beck. Why? If he's got the gout I'll send my carriage 
for him. Where is he ? 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 4I 

Jack. At Westminster. 

Beck. Take my carriage and fetch him, Mr. Dunquerque. 

Jack. I'm afraid I couldn't induce him. 

Beck. Why not ? 

Jack. Well, he's been dead about two hundred and fifty 
years. 

Beck. Cassar's ghost! I don't want no skeletons at my 
banquet. Another day like this and you may bury me with 
my boots on. 

Jack. Not quite so bad as that, I hope. 

Beck. Now I've got rid of that jaw-breaker, I want to 
tell you of another of my trials. Beggars. There were 
twenty-three of them came yesterday morning. 

Jack. Then they have found you out. 

Beck. No, they found me in — that's the deuce of it. 
{Knock at the door^ c.) There's another of them. Stand by 
me, Mr. Dunquerque. See me through with it. Come in, 
come in! {Etiter the " Representative of a Cause " mid 
her " Assistant," c.) Good Lord, a brace this time. Will 
you tackle the young one, Mr. Dunquerque ? (Jack takes 
L. Beck stands before fireplace^ r., with his hands in his 
fockets^ one foot on a chair ^ and his head thrown back^ 

R. OF A C. You are Mr. Beck, sir ? 

Beck. I am Gilead P. Beck, madam. 

R. OF A C. You have received two letters from me, Mr. 
Beck, written by my own hand — my own hand, you under- 
stand. {Flourishing hand.^ 

Beck. I see your game, — I mean your hand. Only 
don't shout, because there is a man sick in the next street. 
Go on. 

R. OF A C. And how many circulars, child 1 

Assistant. Twenty. 

R. OF A C. And I have no answer. I am come for your 
answer, Mr. Beck. We will sit down, if you please, while 
you consider your answer. 

Beck. That's right, make youself comfortable. I wish I 
had a volume of Browning for you to amuse yourself with. 
{Takes up waste-basket, which is full of old letters, and 
places it in chair near him. ^ There are the letters of yes- 
terday and to-day. What was yours, madam ? Was it a let- 
ter asking for money t 

R. OF A C. It was. 

Beck. That makes it more definite. There were only 
seventy-four letters asking for money yesterday. To-day 
only fifty-two. May I ask, madam, if you air the widow who 
wants money to run a mangle ? 



42 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

R. OF A C. Sir, I am unmarried. 

Beck. Well, I thought all the time you must be. 

R. OF A C. And why so, sir ? 

Beck. Well, you haven't that buxom air of supreme . 
knowledge of things which comes with widowhood. 

R. OF A C Sir! 

Beck. Madam ! 

R. OF A C. A mangle, indeed! 

Beck {taking up another letter^. Then, madam, we come 
to the lady who was once a governess, and is now reduced 
to sell her last remaining and nearest garments. 

R. OF A C, Sir ! 

Beck. That's all right. Don't get excited. I don't want 
to buy them — that is, not on the spot. 

R. OF A C. I represent a cause, Mr. Beck. I am not a 
beggar for myself. My cause is the sacred one of woman- 
hood. You, sir, in your free and happy republic — 

Beck. Hear, hear ! 

R. OF A C. Have seen woman partially restored to her 
proper place — on a level with man. 

Assistant. A higher level. The higher level reached by 
the purer heart. 

Jack. Hear, hear! 

R. OF A C. Only partially restored at present. But the 
work goes bravely on. 

Jack. Quotation. 

Beck. " Now could I drink hot blood." 

R. OF A C. Mr. Beck, the cause wants help — your help. 
We want our rights ; we want suffrage ; we want to be elec- 
ted to the Houses of Parliament. We shall prove that we are 
no whit inferior to men. We want no privileges. Let us 
stand on our own — by ourselves. What is there in man's 
physical strength that he should use it to lord over the weak- 
er half of humanity.'* 

Beck. Madam, if you had been the widow I first men- 
tioned, you wouldn't have asked such a darned silly question. 

R. OF A C. Why has not our sex produced a Shakes- 
peare .f* 

Beck. Madam, it has. It has produced all our greatest 
men. 

R. OF A C. {confused^. Your answer, if you please. Mr. 
Beck. 

Beck {decidedly^. I have no answer, madam. 

R. OF -A C. I have written you two letters, and sent you 
twenty circulars, urging upon you the claims of the Woman's 
Rights Association. You will be kind enough, sir, to give 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 43 

categorically your answer to the several heads. We can 
wait here while you write it. 

Assistant. We can wait. {M^'alks deliberately to the 
chair ivJiicJi Beck has had his foot on, and sits i?i it, knock- 
ing waste-basket out. ^v.cy^ goes down c. towards footlights, 
and stands back to audietice watching her for a moment. 
77ien goes up to table, C, ajid leans back against it, and folds 
his arins^ 

Beck. Did you ever hear, ladies, of Paul Deroon of 
Memphis ? He was the wickedest man in all that city. 
When the crusade began — I mean the whiskey crusade — 
the ladies naturally began with Paul Deroon's saloon. 

R. OF A C. {to Assistant). This is very tedious, my dear. 

Beck {winking at Jack). How did Paul Deroon behave 1 
Paul just did nothing. You couldn't tell from Paul's face 
that he ever knew of the forty women around him prayin' all 
together. If he'd been blind, and deaf, and dumb, Paul De- 
roon couldn't have taken less notice. 

R. OF a C. {to Assistant). We shall not keep our ap- 
pointment, I fear. 

Beck. They preached, prayed, and sung hymns for a 
whole week. On Sunday they sung eighty strong. On the 
seventh day — 

R. OF A C. {rising in anger'). You are unworthy to repre- 
sent your great country, sir. 

Beck. Gen. Schenck represents my country, madam. 

R. OF A C. We have wasted our time upon you. {Sweeps 
arou7id before Beck, and takes "Assistant " by the artn.) 

Beck. Madam, you have — 

R. OF A C. Ugh! Brute! {Exeunt ^^K. OF A C." and 
"Assistant," c.) 

Beck. Good day. Call again. Two letters and twenty 
circulars. That's a simple. {Looks at watch.) It's time 
preparations were being made for that banquet. {Rings bell. 
Servant enters, c.) Take away the table, books, and all the 
rest of the rubbish. {Serva^tt proceeds to do so.) Now for 
the Bill of Fare. {Takes one from pocket and reads?) 

"Langham Hotel. May 20, 1875. — Dinner in honor of lit- 
erature, Science, and Art. Given by Gilead P. Beck, an obscure 
American citizen, raised at Lexington, who struck lie in the most 
surprising manner, by the help of the Golden Butterflv; but who 
despises Shoddy, and respects Genius. Representatives of Liter- 
ature, Art, and Science : Thomas Carlyle, Alfred Tennyson, John 
Raskin, Algernon Swinburne, (ieorge Augustus Sala, Charles 
Darwin, Professor Huxley, Cornelius Jagenal, and Humphrey 
Jagenal, with the Hon. Ronald Dunquerque, and Gilead P. Beck." 



44 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Beck. How is that ? 

Jack. That is very good. 

Beck. Yes, sir, and the dinner will be better. Will you 
excuse me if I run over a little of my speech ? 

Jack. Certainly. I'll listen. 

Beck (in a spread-eagle slyle'). "Gentlemen, all." I 
couldn't have said that if that Mrs. Eliot had come. {To 
Jack.) " I am more than proud to make your acquaintance. 
Across the foaming waves of the mighty Atlantic there is a 
land, whose institootions — known tQ Mr. Sala — air not un- 
like your own, whose literature is your own up to a recent 
period. And as you, Mr. Tennyson, say in your lovely poem 
of " Bingen on the Rhine — " {Knock at the door, l.) 
Damn that door. 

Jack. Come in. {Enter Cornelius ajtd Humphrey 
Jagenal, c. Jack exits c.) 

Beck. The first arrivals. I am glad, gentlemen, you 
came first, for I wanted to say something to you alone. You, 
gentlemen, will sit near me, one each side, if you will be so 
kind, just to lend a helping hand to the talk when it flags. 
Phew ! it will be a rasper the talk of to-day. I've read all 
their works, if I can only remember them, and I bought the 
" History of English Literature " yesterday to git a grip of the 
hull subject. No use. I haven't got farther than Chaucer. 
Do you think they can talk about Chaucer? He wrote 
"Robinson Crusoe." 

- Humph. Cornelius, you will be able to lead the conversa- 
tion to the Anglo-Saxon period. 

Cor. That period is too early, brother Humphrey. We 
will trust to you to turn the stream in the direction of the 
"Renaissance." 

Beck. I most wish now that I hadn't asked them. But 
it's a thunderin' great honor. Mr. Dunquerque did it all for 
me. That young gentlemen met these great writers in the 
baronial halls of his brother, the Earl of Isleworth. 

Cor. Do we know Lord Isleworth? 

Humph. Lord Isleworth ? No. I rather think he never 
met us. 

Beck. None of your small names to-night. The Lord 
Mayor may have them at Guild Hall. Mine are the big 
guns. What would they say in Boston if they knew, or even 
in New York ? 

Humph. You should have a dinner for poets alone. 

Cor. Or for artists only. 

Beck. Wal, gentlemen, we shall get on. As there's five 
minutes to spare, would you like to give an opinion on the 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 45 

wine list, and oblige me by your advice ? {They smack their 
lips. Beck reads.) " For Sauterne, Chateau Iquem. For 
Burgundy, Chambertin. For Claret, Chateau Lafitte. For 
Champagne, Heidsieck, For Sherry, Montilla. Box Botel 
wine for .Hock, — and for Port, the ''34.' " Is that satisfac- 
tory, gentlemen ? 

Humph. Cornelius, what do you think ? 

Cor. Humphrey, I think as you do. 

Beck. Well, what do you both think ? 

Humph, and Cor. Alike. 

Beck. That's what I call a definite answer. Would you 
favor me by looking at the " menu " .'' {Hands it.) 

Humph. Cornelius, say something appropriate. 

Cor. Humphrey, you shall paint him. 

Beck. Thank you ; when I need painting Fll let you 
know. 

Humph. Cornelius, you shall sing his praises. {Both 
turn suddenly as if overcome, and grasp Mr. Beck by the 
hand. Door opens., c, a7id Jack enters., followed by Car- 
LYLE, Tennyson, Ruskin, Swinburne, Sala, Darwin, 
Huxley. They file down r., and stand i7i line in the order 
mentioned. Beck stattds l. with Humphrey and Corne- 
lius, one on each side. Jack contes c.) 

Jack. Sir, before you stands Thomas Carlyle. 

Beck {as they both advance and shake hands). This is a 
proud moment, sir, for Gilead P. Beck. I never thought to 
have shaken by the hand the author of the " French Revolu- 
tion " and " Uncle Tom's Cabin." 

Carlyle {he as well as the others are made uf to resem- 
ble the people they impersonate). You are proud, Mr. Beck? 
The only pride should be the pride of work. Beautiful the 
meanest thing that works ; even the rusty and unmusical 
meat-jack. All else belongs to the outlook of him whom men 
call Beelzebub. The brief day passes with its poor paper 
crowns in tinsel gilt ; night is at hand with her silences and 
her veracities. What hast thou done .'' All the rest is phan- 
tasmal. Work only remains. Say, brother, what is thy 
work .'' 

Beck. I have struck ile. 

Carlyle. Friend, I salute thee. " Amicus humani 
generis." 

Beck. Eh ? 

Carlyle. " Amicus — " 

Beck. Who is ? 

Carlyle. What ? 

Beck. A cuss. 



46 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Jack. That's Latin for "giver cf good dinners." 

Beck. Ls it ? Oil, well, swear away then. 

Jack (^piillin!J Carlyle's coat. Aside to Imn). That's 
enough. {Qh\a.x\jL falls back to hi:: position, ^«^ Tenny- 
son steps forward.) Mr. Beck, Alfred Tennyson, the Poet- 
Laureate. 

Beck {taking his hand., and looking in his face earnestly 
a moment), i)/^ they wake and call you early? Mr. Ten- 
nyson, I do assure you, sir, that this is the kindest thing that 
has been done to me since I came to England. I hope I see 
you well, sir. And Mrs. T., how is she ? Quite well, 
1 hope. I read your " Fifine at the Fair," sir, — no, thut 
was the other rrian's — I mean, sir, your " Wandering Jew," 
and I congratulate you. We've got some poets -on our side 
of the water, sir. Fve written poetry myself for the papers. 
We've got Longfellow and Lowell, and take out you and Mr. 
Swinburne, with them we'll meet your lot. 

(Tennyson opens his inouth to speak, when Jack pulls 
hijn by the coat-tail, and he retires to his place as Mr. Rus- 
kin adva7ices.) 

Jack. Mr. John Ruskin. 

Rusktn. I welcome one of our fellow-workers from the 
other side of the Atlantic. I cannot utter to you what I 
would. We all see too dimly as yet what are our great world 
duties, for we try and outHne their enlarj^ing shadows. You 
in America do not seek peace as Menahem sought it, when 
he gave the King of Assyria a thousand pieces of silver. 
You fight for your peace, and you have it. You do not buy 
what you want ; you take it. That is strength ; that is har- 
mony. {Stops suddenly, and retires to his place. Beck 
looks helplessly at Humphrey ajid Cornelius, who each 
stare at the ceiling^ 

Jack. Mr. Beck, Mr. Swinburne. Deaf people think 
Mr. Browning is musical, sir ; but all people allow Mr. Swin- 
burne to be the most musical of poets. (Svv^inburne 
laughs.) 

Beck. Sir, I have read some of your verses. I can't say 
what they were about, or what I was about, but I took to 
singin' them softly as I read them, and I seemed to be in a 
green field lyin' out among the flowers, while the bees and 
wasps were hummin' around lively, and the larks were liftin' 
their hymns in the sky. (Swinburne laughs again and 
retires.) 

Jack. Mr. Beck, let me introduce Mr. George Augustus 
Sala. 

Beck. How are you, George. This is indeed a pleasure. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 4/ 

Mr. Sala, when I say I am an old and personal friend of 
Colonel Quas:"^, you will be glad to meet me. (Sala looks 
at Jack appealingly . Jack motions him to retire^ a7id the 
last two to advajice^ 

Jack. Mr. Beck, these gentlemen are Mr. Darwin and 
Professor Huxley. {They shake hands ^ and retire to their 
places.^ 

Beck (c). Gentlemen, all — I am more than proud to 
make your acquaintance. Across the foaming waves of the 
mighty Atlantic there is a land, whose institootions — known 
to Mr. Sala — air not unlike your own, whose literature is 
your own up to a hundred years ago — 

Cor. Hear, hear ! 

Beck. Whose language is the same as yours, (c. doors 
open^ We say hard things of each other, gentlemen ; but 
the hard things are said on the low levels, not on the heights 
where you and your kindred spirits dwell. {Servajits briui^ 
on table all spread?) No gentleman, when the American 
eagle proudly bearing the stars and stripes — {The table is 
here shoved against Beck's back as he is gesticulating wild- 
ly. The table has a leaf at the end fastened biit feebly , so 
that when it st?'ikes Beck's <^rtr-^ the leaf breaks down, and 
several dishes fall, together with a pie which Beck falls 
into. So7ne flour adheres to his coat-tails when he rises and 
turns to the 'W An:KKfjirio7isly.') 

Waiter. Dinner on the table, sir. 

Humph. Hear, hear ! 

Beck. Great Jehosaphat ! {To Waiter.) Can't you 
see when a gentleman is on the stump ? Who the devil 
asked you to shove in ? 

Jack. Never mind ! spout the rest after dinner. 

{As Beck turjis logo up stage, all the company of notables 
laugh heartily but noiselessly, and slap their knees?) 

Jack {aside to Ruskin). For heaven's sake. Tommy, and 
you fellows, keep it up. {As Beck faces down stage again, 
they assume a serious aspect?) 

Beck {from head of table^. Gentlemen, to your places. 
{The guests rush for places. All want the seats farthest 
from Beck. Jack does not take part. At last all are 
seated, a7i d Carlyj^b has placed his chair at the lower end 
of the table. Jack quietly takes him by the ear, as Beck is 
engaged i7i conversation with Tennyson, who is seated on 
his left, and lifts him up. Carlyle rises and takes his 
chair and tries to find another place, and is forced to take 
the 07ie on the right of Beck. Whe7i all are seated, the order 
is like this.) 



48 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Beck 
Carlyle Tennyson 

Sala Ruskin 

Huxley Darwin 

Swinburne Jack 

Cornelius Humphrey 

Beck. Professor Huxley, will you favor us by saying 
grace ? 

Huxley. Certainly. Grace. 

Beck. No, I mean a — blessing. 

Huxley. Oh — I — aii — tiiat is — I know none. 

Beck. Well, then, we'll fall to without it. (As he says 
this, the gjiests 7nake a sudde?i onslaught on the eatables^ 
the twins particularly . They'e is silence for a moment as 
Beck stares at them. Long silence^ 

Beck. Mr. Carlyle is going to say something. 

Humph. Hush ! 

Carlyle {rises deliberately, wipes mouth, makes prepara- 
tions as if for an elaborate speech, then says .•) I live in 
Chelsea. (Sits.) 

Cor. The greatest minds condescend to the meanest 
things. 

Humph. Pray, Mr. Carlyle, what was the favorite soup 
of Herr Teufelsdrockl ? 

Carlyle. Who ? Beg your pardon. Herr how much .-* 

Jack. From your own work, Mr. Carlyle. 

Carlyle. Oh, ah ! quite so. Well, you see the fact is 
that — Jack Dunquerque knows. {All laugh?) 

Beck. Gentlemen, when I was editor of the Clearville 
Roarer I used to bust forth into poetry at the slightest provo- 
cation. You of course know what our Fourth of July celebra- 
tion means, but you probably do not know that it is celebrated 
by the urchins chiefly with Chinese fire-crackers. Well, I 
wrote a poem on that subject, and, if you wouldn't consider 
it a bore, I would like to give you an idea of my style. 

Omnes. Go on. The poem, the poem, etc. By all means. 

Beck {takes paper frojn pocket, rises and reads). 

YE FIRE-CRACKER. 

a ten-centennial owed. — IN FOWER CANT OWES. 

[E. A. PoE took his idea of " The Bells ^'' from this.} 

I. 

Lo! the festive injun cracker — 

Fire-cracker ! 
Done up in a brilliant rapper ; 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 49 

How they fizzle, fizzle, fizzle, 

All the blessed livelong night ! 

While the serpents gayly sizzle, 

And the youngsters quickly mizzle 

With a fish-horn out of sight ; 

Keeping time, time, time. 

In a sort of looney rhyme. 

To the tintinoldtinfish-horn that so musically swells, 

As they fizzle and they crack, 

And they snap, snap, snap, snap, 

Snap, snap, snap, snap, snap, 

And they splutter, and they whack 

Some poor devil in the back 

Of his neck, as the tintinoldtinfish-horn 

Keeps old Morpheus in check. 

IL 

Hear the bully double-header. 

Much redder 
Than them that's tied up all together 
A hundred in a bunch. 
How they bellow and they roar, 
And bust on your chamber floor ; 
Comin' in your chamber winder — 
Your wide-open chamber winder ; 
Then you jump up in affright, 
And gaze out upon the night, 
Getting full plumb on your nose 
A half a box of torpedoes ; 
On the nose, nose, nose; 
Gayly then the claret runs, runs, runs 
On your night-shirt and your toes, 
As you goes to the sink and blows 

Your nose. 
Nose, nose, nose, nose, nose, 
As the tintinoldtinfish-horn 'neath your winder 

Loudly blows. 

III. 

Hear the rippin' twenty-center 

Shake the centre 
Of the earth from pole to centre ! 
Bustin' monarch of the land, 
You are mighty, you are grand; 
You can bust more winder panes in, 
You can scare more dogs and bosses, 
You can scare more cats and wimmin. 
Than all the depots when the train's in ! 
You can bust, bust, bust 
More ear-drums, kick up more dust, 



50 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Than a yellin' colt on trust 
When he sees his first injine. 
How you bluster and you belch, 
How immensely you do squelch 
The ten-cents-a-buncher ! 
Go it, gay old twenty-center ; 
You have got the inside track, 
As you crack, crack, crack, 
Crack, crack, crack, crack 
Behind each timid young girl's back. 

IV. 

Celestial being's great invention ! 

Chinese heathen ! 
It has been my task to mention 
To the world this explosive. 
Dogs I've seen with bouquets of 'em 
Sailing down the street with yells; 
But though they snapped like falling hail, 
These dogs of war would ne'er turn tail. 

Great Chinese ! ! 

Stunnin' cracker ! ! ! 
You have snapped till not a snapper 

Has remained. 
You have vomited forth fire, fire, fire ! 
"With a thundering desire 
To make all men expire; 
With your bust, bang, whiz, whack, fizz, boom, pop, snap, belch, 
— and several other counties to hear from. 

Omnes. Bravo ! Capital ! etc., etc. ^ 

Cor. The style is vigorous, and the rhyming good, with 
the exception of the last line. " From" does not rhyme with 
'• expire." (Beck laughs lo7idly.) 

RusKiN. I have been studying lately, Mr. Beck, the art- 
growth of America. 

Beck. Is that so, sir ? And perhaps you have got some- 
thing to tell my countrymen ? 

RuSKiN. Perhaps, Mr. Beck. You doubtless know my 
principle that Art should interpret, as it were ; the more Art 
is interpreted, the easier it will be, as I may say, to be inter- 
pretable. You also know that I have preached all my life, 
more or less, but perhaps more, — in fact I think I may ven- 
ture to say so, that where Art is followed for Art's sake, 
there infallibly ensues a distinction of intellectual and moral 
principles, more beneficial and more beautifully recognizable 
than if it were otherwise. Art is always helpful to mankind ; 
so much you know, Mr. Beck, I'm sure. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 51 

Beck {confused). Well, sir, if you would not mind 
saying that over again — slow — I might be able to say I 
know it. 

RusKiN. I have sometimes gone on to say that a time has 
always hitherto come when, having reached a singular per- 
fection, Art begins to contemplate that perfection and to de- 
duce rules from it. 

Beck. The deuce it does. 

RusKiN. Now, all this has nothing to do with the relations 
between Art and mental development in the United States of 
America. 

Beck. I am glad to hear that, sir. 

Carlyle {to Huxley). What is it all about ? 

Huxley. Don't know. 

Beck. Would you mind writing those remarks down "i I 
could tackle them quietly for an hour. Then I'd tell you 
what I think. I am sorry not to be able to talk with you, 
gentlemen, on the subjects you hke best, because things have 
got mixed, and I find I can't rightly remember who wrote 
what. 

Tennyson {aside). Thank goodness ! 

Carlyle. Waiter, champagne. 

Beck. That drink, sir, is a compound calculated to in- 
spirit Job in the thick of his misfortunes. But if there is any 
other single thing you prefer, name that thing and you shall 
have it. 

Carlyle. This will do very well. 

RUSKIN. Gad ! I should think it would. 

Beck. By the way, Mr. Ruskin, I believe you painted 
"The Slave-ship." 

Ruskin. I believe I did — outside. 

Jack. No, no. 

Ruskin. No, no, it was inside. 

Jack {nudging him~). No ! Turner painted it. 

Ruskin. I mean I was with Turner when he took the job. 

Beck. I'm glad of that, for I never could understand it, 
and since I've heard you I didn't know but it was a work of 
yours. It always looked to me like a yaller cat having a fit 
in a bowl of tomato-soup. 

Tennyson. We have heard of your wonderful luck, and 
of the Golden Butterfly ; have you the insect here ? 

Beck. The Golden Bug ? Yes, sir, and I'll show you 
the critter himself {Rises and takes from table at back a 
glass case with the Golden Biitteify in it suspended in the 
centre?) There ! look at it, gentlemen. That is the inseck 
which has made the fortune of Gilead P. Beck. 



52 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Carlyle. Is it a medium ? 

Tennyson. Does it rap ? 

Huxley. Or answer questions ? 

RusKiN. Or tell the card you are thinking of? 

Beck. No, sir, but it's a mighty power for all that. Now, 
gentlemen, if you'll allow me, I wish to propose a toast. 
England and America. He has not been found in the Old 
Country, and so far she is behind America. But she buys 
what she can't dig. {All drink.') Another, gentlemen. I 
was but a poor galoot when the Golden Butterfly took me to 
Limerick City and showed me ile ; therefore, I wish you to 
join me in the sentiment, More Ile. {All drink. Corne- 
lius and Humphrey Jagenal are by this time very full and 
very sleepy.) Gentlem,en ! {All move their chairs back a 
short distance fro7n the table., except Cornelius and Humph- 
rey, and prepare to listen?) I am not going to orate. You 
did not come here, I guess, to hear me pay out chin-music. 
Not at all. You came to do honor to an American. Gentle- 
men, I am an obscure American ; I am half educated; I am 
a man lifted out of the ranks. But I can read and I can 
think. I see here to-night some of the most honored names 
in England, and I can tell you all what I was goin' to say be- 
fore dinner, only the misbegotten cuss of a waiter took the 
words out of my mouth, that I feel this kindness greatly, and 
shall never forget it. I did think, gentlemen, that you would 
have been too many for me in the matter of tall talk ; but, 
exceptin' Mr. Ruskin, to whom I am grateful for his beauti- 
ful language, though it didn't all get in, not one of you has 
made me feel my own uneducated ignorance. This is kind 
of you, and I thank you for it. Therefore, gentlemen, I thank 
you for leavin' the tall talk at home. And I'll not ask you, 
either, to make any speeches ; but, if you'll allow me, I will 
drink your healths. Mr. Carlyle, sir, the English-speaking 
race is proud of you. {Each rises and bows as his 7iame is 
mentioned^ Mr. Tennyson, our gells, I'm told, love your 
poems more than any others in this wide world. What an 
American gell loves is generally worth lovin', because she's 
no fool. Mr. Ruskin, if you'd come across the water, you 
might learn a wrinkle yet in the matter of plain speech. Mr. 
Sala, we know you already over thar. Professor Huxley and 
Mr. Darwin, I shall read your sermons and your novels. 
Mr. Swinburne, you air young, but you air getting on. Mr. 
Dunquerque, you have done me another favor. Mr. Corne- 
lius and Mr. Humphrey Jagenal, I would drink your health 
too if 3^ou were not sound asleep. Gentlemen, all, I drink 
your health. {All driiik. All rise and co77ie do'W7i after 
the health is dru7ikt except Humphrey a7id Cornelius.) 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 53 

RusKiN {aside to Jack). Jack, I call this a burning 
shame. 

Carlyle {to Jack). He's a rattling good fellow this, and 
you must tell him. 

Jack. I will, some time ; but not now. I haven't the 
heart. I thought he would have found us out long ago. I 
wonder how he'll take it. (Beck conies doiv?i^ 

Carlyle. Mr. Beck, you are a trump. Come down to 
the Derby with me, and we will show you a race worth 
twenty of your trotting. You've treated us hke a prince. 
Good night, sir. {Goes up?) 

Beck. A wonderful old man ! Who would have thought 
it.? (Tennyson, Darwin, Sala, Huxley, and Swinburne 
also shake hands and go up.^ 

Jack. Gentlemen, one moment. {They stop as they are 
about to go^ This is too good to keep. Mr. Beck, how 
are you on the subject of jokes ? If a man could play a joke 
on you, would you take offence 1 

Beck (c). No, sir-ee. I would respect the man who 
was smart enough to do it. 

Jack (l.). Then ready. {To crowds who range the7n- 
selves across stage, R.) Aim. {All put hands to their wigs 
arid beards.^ Fire! {All remove disguises!) 

Beck {utterly duinfounded at first). What! Ladds? 
No ! Yes .f* Sold, by thunder !! {Falls back into Humph- 
rey's lap, waking him. Beck jumps up, as Humphrey 
does also, and knocks Humphrey backwards into Corne- 
lius' lap, which wakes him. Both jujnp up and square off at 
each other, and, then recognizing each other, each exclaims^ 
'•^ Brother^'' then enibrace. Beck, after pushing W.XiUVVi'R.'E.Y 
over, turns to Jack and wildly grasps his hand and ex- 
claims :) " Now could I drink hot blood!" {This action 
is all simultaneous^ as the masqueraders laugh heartily^ 

Curtain. 



[Note. — Act III. may be oinitted altogether^ if desired^ 
wit ho2it affecting the continuity of the action.^ 



54 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 



ACT IV. 

Scene. — Parlor at Mrs. L'Estrange's, looking out upon 
the Thames and across the river. Doors R. 3 and L. 3. 
Window R. 2. Phillis discovered at table, r., draw- 
ing. Presently she puts dow?t the picture. Jack enters 
from lawn, c. 

Phil. I wish Jack were here. 

Jack. He is here, Phil. 

Phil. Jack ! Oh, I am glad. Agatha has gone up to 
town. What shall we do this afternoon .? Shall we talk ? 
Shall I play for you 1 Shall I draw you a picture ? What 
shall we do, Jack ? 

Jack. Well, Phil, I think — perhaps — we had better 
talk. 

Phil. What has happened, Jack ? You do not look 
happy. 

Jack. I do not know how to tell you, Phil. I don't see a 
way to begin. 

Phil. Sit down and begin somehow. What is it makes 
people unhappy .f* Are you ill .-* 

Jack. No, Phil. I am never ill. You see, I am not ex- 
actly unhappy — 

Phil. But, Jack, you look so dismal. 

Jack. Yes, that is it ; I am a little dismal. No, Phil — 
no. I am really unhappy, and you are the cause. 

Phil. I the cause t But, Jack, why ? 

Jack. I had a talk with your guardian, Laurence Colqu- 
houn, yesterday. And it was all about you. And he wants 
me — not to come here so often, in fact. And I mustn't 
come. 

Phil. But why not ? 

Jack. That is just what I cannot explain to you. 

Phil. Other girls haven't got a Jack Dunquerque, have 
they ? Poor things ! That is all you mean, isn't it ? 

Jack. Phil, don't look at me like that ! You don't know 
— you cannot understand — no. 

Phil. I have done nothing wrong. If I had, my con- 
science would make me unhappy. But I do not begin to un- 
derstand what you mean. Last week Agatha asked me if I 
was not thinking too much about you. And the curate made 
me laugh, because he said, quite by himself in a corner, you 
know — that Mr. Dunquerque was a happy man ; and when I 
asked him why, he turned very red, and said it was because I 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 55 

had given to him what all the world would long to have. He 
meant, Jack — 

Jack. I wish he were here for me to wring his neck. 

Phil. And one day Laura Herries was talking to Agatha 
about some young lady who had got compromised by a gen- 
tleman's attentions. I asked why, and she replied, that if I 
did not know, no one could know. 

Jack. Miss Herries ought to have her neck wrung, too, 
as well as the curate. 

Phil. Compromise — improper. What does it all mean ? 
Jack, tell me — what is this wrong thing that you and I have 
done? 

Jack. Not you, Phil ; a thousand times, not you. 

Phil. Then I do not care much what other people say. 
Do you know, Jack, it seems to me as if we never ought to 
care for what people, besides people we love, say about us. 

Jack. But it is I who have done wrong. 

Phil. Have you. Jack ? Oh, then, I forgive you. Don't 
laugh, Jack, because I cannot read like other people ; and all 
I have to go by is what Mr, Dyson told me, and Agatha tells 
me, and what I see — and — and what you tell me. Jack, 
which is worth all the rest to me, {Brushes tears froin eyes.) 
And I forgive you. Jack, all the more, because you did not 
treat me as you would have treated the girls who seem to me 
so lifeless and languid, and — Jack, it may be wrong to say 
it, but oh ! so small. What compliment could you have paid 
me better than to single me out for your friend — my friend, 
mine. We were friends from the first, were we not? 
{Places her hajid i7i his.) And now you have compromised 
me, as they would say. What does it matter. Jack ? We 
can go on always just the same as we have been doing, can 
we not ? 

Jack. No, Phil. Your guardian will not allow it. You 
must obey him. He says that I am to come here less fre- 
quently ; that I must not do you — he is quite right, Phil 
— any more mischief, 

Phil. My guardian leaves me alone here with Agatha. 
It is you who have been my real guardian, Jack. I shall do 
what you tell me to do. 

Jack. I want to do what is best for you, Phil — but — 
child! {Taking both hands. She sits on a hassock at his 
feet., and looks into his eyes.) Child, must I tell you ? Could 
not Agatha L'Estrange tell you that there is something in the 
world very different from friendship ? Is it left for me to 
teach you ? They call it love, Phil. 

Phil. Love ? But I know all about it, Jack. 



56 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 



Jack. No, Phil, you know nothing. It isn't the love that 
you bear to Agatha that I mean. 

Phil. Is it the love I have for you. Jack,'* 

Jack. It may be, Phil, Tell me, only tell me if you love 
me as I love you. Try to tell me, I love you so much that 
I cannot sleep for thinking of you ; and 1 think of you all 
day long. It seems as if my life must have been a long blank 
before I saw you ; all my happiness is to be with you ; to 
think of going on without you maddens me. 

Phil, Poor Jack! 

Jack. My dear, my darling — my queen and pearl of girls 
— who can help loving you .'' And even to be with you, to 
have you close to me, to hold your hands in mine — that isn't 
enough. 

Phil. What more — oh, Jack, Jack ! What more ? 

Jack. What more ? My darhng, my angel, this. 
(Kisses her.^ And this, {Kisses her again. Raises her^ 
and places arm about her^ Phil, Phil, wake at last from 
your long childhood ; leave the Garden of Eden, where you 
have wandered so many years, and come out into the other 
world, — the world of love. My dear, my dear, can you love 
me a little, only a little in return,-* Phil, Phil, answer me — 
speak to me — ■■ forgive me, {Drops kis arm from^ about her 
waist, and also drops her hands. She appears in amaze 
for a 7nome7tt, then places her hands to her face and weeps ^ 
Forgive me, forgive me. 

Phil, {still bewildered). Jack, what is it ? What does it 
mean .? Jack, what is it you have said .'' What is it you 
have done ? 

Jack. Phil. 

Phil. Yes. Hush ! don't speak to me — not yet. Jack. 
Wait a moment. My brain is full of strange thoughts. 
Something seems to have come upon me. Help me. Jack ! 
oh, help me. I am frightened. {Nestles up to Jack,) Look 
at me, Jack. Tell me, am I the same 1 Is there any change 
in me .>* 

Jack. Yes, Phil ; yes, my darling. You are changed. 
Your sweet eyes are full of tears like the skies in April ; and 
your cheeks are pale and white. Let me kiss them until 
they get their own color again. {Kisses her.) 

Phil. I know. Jack, now. It all came upon me in a mo- 
ment when your lips touched mine. Jack, Jack, it was as if 
something snapped ; as if a veil fell from my eyes. I know 
now what you meant when you said just now that you loved 
me. • 

Jack. Do you, Phil 1 And can you love me, too ? 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 5/ 

Phil. Yes, Jack. I will tell you when I am able to talk 
again. Do you think, Jack, that I can always have loved you 
— without knowing it at all — just as you love me ? See, the 
sun is out, and the birds are singing — all the sweet birds — ■■ 
they are singing for me. Jack, for you and for me. Take me 
to the river, Jack. I want to think it all over again, and try 
to understand it better. 

] AC}^ {as they go up). Phil, I don't deserve it; I don't 
deserve you. {Exeunt c. to L. Enter, L. 3 E., Humphrey 
and Cornelius Jagenal.) 

Humph. You, Cornelius, have engaged yourself to be 
married. 

Cor. Pardon me, Humphrey ; it is you that are engaged 
to Phillis Fleming. 

Humph. I am nothing of the sort, Cornelius. I am as- 
tonished that you should make such a statement. 

Cor. One of us certainly is engaged to the young lady. 
And it certainly is not I. "Let your brother Humphrey 
hope," she said. Those were her very words. I do think, 
brother, that it is a httle ungenerous of you, after all the 
trouble I took on your behalf, to try to force this young lady 
on me. 

Humph. I went down on purpose to tell Phillis about you. 
I spoke to her of your ardor. She said she appreciated it, 
Cornelius. I even went so far as to say that you offered her 
a virgin heart — perilling my own soul by those very words — 
a virgin heart — and after that German milk-maid! Ha, ha, 
the poet and the milk-maid! 

Cor. And what did I do for you? I told her that you 
brought her a heart which had never beat for another — 
that, after your miserable little Roman model. 

Humph. Cornelius 1 {Facing hhn.') 

Cor. Humphrey ! {Imitating.) To bring up the Ger- 
man business! 

Humph. To taunt me with the Roman girl! 

Cor. Will you keep your engagement like a gentleman, 
and marry the girl ? 

Humph. Will you behave as a man of honor, and go to 
the altar with Philhs Fleming? 

Cor. I will not. Nothing shall induce me to get 
married! 

Humph. Nor will I. I will see myself drawn and quar- 
tered first! 

Cor. Then go and break it to her yourself, for I will not. 

Humph. Break what ? Break her heart ? I am not the 
man to do that. 



58 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Cor. Can it be that she loves us both ? 

Humph. Can that be so, Cornelius ? 

Cor. Brother Humphrey, I see that we have mismanaged 
this affair. I thought you wanted to marry her. 

Humph. I thought j(?z/ did. 

Cor. And so we each pleaded the other's cause. And 
the poor girl loves us both. Good heavens ! What a dread- 
ful sacrifice to give us both up! 

Humph. I remember nothing in fiction so startling. To 
be sure, there is some excuse for her. 

Cor. But she can't marry us both. 

Humph. N-n-no. I suppose not. No — certainly not. 
Heaven forbid. And as you will not marry her — 

Cor. And I will not — 

Humph. Marry! What! Have to get up early ; to have 
to go to bed at eleven ; perhaps, Cornelius, to have babies ; 
and, besides, if they should be twins. Fancy being shaken 
out of your poetic dream by the cries of twins. 

Cor. And, Humphrey, should we go abroad, no flirting 
with Roman models, eh, eh, eh ? 

Humph. Ho, ho, ho ! And no carrying milk-pails up the 
Heidelberg hills, eh, eh, eh .'* 

Cor. Marriage be hanged. And now what about Mr. 
Gilead Beck ? 

Humph. Will the poem be finished ? 

Cor. No. Will the picture ? 

Humph. Not a chance. Tell me, Cornelius, how much 
of your poem remains to be done ? 

Cor". Well, you see, there is not much actually written. 

Humph. Will you show it to me — what there is of it ? 

Cor. It is all in my head, Humphrey. Nothing is 
written. 

Humph. It is curious, Cornehus, that up to the present I 
have not actually drawn any of the groups. My figures are 
still in my head. {Ettter 'Pb.iiaas, C.from'L.') Hush! here 
is Miss Fleming. 

Phil. Good morning, gentlemen. 

Humph, and Cor. Good morning. Miss Fleming. 

Cor. We came for a few words of serious explanation. 

Phil. Very well ; pray, go on. 

Cor. It is a dehcate and, I fear, painful business. Miss 
Fleming, you doubtless remember a conversation I had with 
you some time since at the house of Mr. Cassilis .? 

Phil. Certainly. You told me that your brother Humph- 
rey adored me. You also said that he brought me a virgin 
heart. I remember perfectly. I did not understand your 
meaning then. But I do now. I understand it now. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 59 

Cor. Patience, brother, I will see you through this affair. 
You see, Miss Fleming, I was under a mistake. My brother 
has the highest respect in the abstract for womanhood, which 
is the incarnation and embodiment of all that is graceful and 
beautiful in this fair world of ours, does not — after all — 

Phil, {laiighbig). You mean that he does not, after all, 
adore me. Oh, Mr. Humphrey, Mr. Humphrey ! Was it 
for this that you offered me a virgin heart ? 

Cor. My dear young lady, Humphrey does adore you — 
speak, brother — do you not adore Miss Fleming .'* 

Humph. I do, I do, most certainly. This is killing me. 

Phil. But there is yourself, Mr. Cornelius. If you made 
a mistake about Humphrey, it is impossible that he could 
have made a mistake about you. 

Cor. This is terrible. Explain, brother Humphrey. 
Miss Fleming, we — no, you as well — are victims of a dread- 
ful error. 

Humph. I, too, mistook the respectful admiration of my 
brother for something dearer. Miss Fleming, he is already 
wedded. 

Phil. Wedded? Are you a married man, Mr. Cornelius t 
Oh, and where is the virgin heart .-^ 

Humph. Wedded to his art. Wedded — long ago — 
object of his life's love — with milk-pails on the hills of Hei- 
delberg, and light blue eyes — the muse of song. But he 
regards you with respectful admiration. 

Cor. Most respectful. As Petrarch regarded the wife of 
the Count de Sadi. Will you forgive us. Miss Fleming, and 
— and — try to forget us. It is hard, I know ; but try. 

Phil. I will forgive you both, but I am afraid I shall 
never, never be able to forget you. {Laughing.) 

HUxMPH. Poor thing, 1 pity her! 

Phil. Now go. {Pointing to dooi', seriously^ I forgive 
you. But never again dare to offer a girl each other's virgin 
heart. {They slink aivay ashajned and crestfalleji.^ Stop! 
We must not part like that. Shake hands, Cornelius. Shake 
hands, Humphrey. Come back and take another glass of 
wine. {They drink from decanter of ivitie on table.) You 
could not have married me, you know, for I am going to 
marry Jack. There ! — forgive me for speaking unkindly, and 
we will remain friends. Adieu. {Exit r. 3.) 

Cor. Brother, her heart is not broken. 

Humph. Not even cracked. 

Cor. I'll be revenged. 

Humph. How ? 

Cor. I'll drink up all the wine. {Takes decanter and 
dritiks.) 



60 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Humph. Poor little Phillis ! {Takes decanter and drinks^ 

Cor. It wasn't our fault, after all. Men of genius are 
always run after. Women are made to love men, and men 
are made to break their hearts. {Takes decanter and 
drinks.^ 

Humph. Law of nature, dear Cornelius — law of nature. 

Cor. Humphrey, my dear brother, advise me. What 
would you do if you had a sharp and sudden pain, like a 
knife, inside you. 

Humph. If I had a sharp and sudden pain, like a knife, 
inside me, I should take a small glass of brandy neat. 
( They put down decanter e?npty^ a?id both lock arms a?td reel 
out C. to L., singing .•) 

Quand on est a Paris 

On ecrit a son pere. 
Qui fait reponse : " Brigand ! 

Tu n'en as — " 

{Exeunt c. to L. Enter, L. 3 e., Gabriel Cassilts, cau- 
tiortsly peering around to see if any one is ifi the room. Then 
enters and comes to c. After once more looking around, he 
takes note from pocket atid reads.^ 

Mr. C. " She wrote to him to-day ; she told him she 
could bear her life no longer ; she threatened to tell the secret 
right out ; she will have an explanation with him to-morrow, 
at Mrs. L'Estrange's. Do you go down and you will hear 
the explanation. Be quiet and be secret." I loved her, I 
loved her, and I trusted her ; and this is the end. Some 
one is coming. I must not be seen. {Hides behind curtaitis 
of window, R. 2. Enter Phillis, r. 3, meeting Laurence 
CoLQUHOUN, who enters at the same time c.from L.) 

Lau. Litde Philhs. 

Phil. Guardian. 

Lau. Little Phillis, though, no longer. When I saw you 
first, you were little Phillis — a wee toddler of six or seven. 
I went away and forgot all about you — almost forgot your 
very existence, Philhs — till the news of Mr. Dyson's death 
met me on my way home again. I fear that I have neglected 
you since I came home ; but I have been worried. 

Phil. What has worried you, Laurence. Agatha says 
you never care what happens. 

Lau. Agatha is right, as a rule. In one case, of which 
she knows nothing, she is wrong. Tell me, Phillis, is there 
anything you want in the world that I can get for you ? 

Phil. I think I have everything. And what you will not 
give me, I shall wait for till I am twenty-one. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 6 1 

Lau. You mean — 

Phil. I mean Jack Dunquerque, Laurence. 

Lau. Sit down. I wanted to speak about him. {They sit 
on sofa, R.) Phillis, you are very young. All I ask you is 
to wait. Do not give your promise to this man till you have 
at least had an opportunity of — of comparing — of learning 
your own mind. 

Phil. I have already given my promise. 

Lau. But it is a promise that may be recalled. Dun- 
querque is a gentleman ; he will not hold you to your word 
when he feels that he ought not to have taken it from you. 
You have no idea of what it is that you have given, or its 
value. 

Phil. I think you mean the best for me, Laurence ; but 
the best is — Jack. I think of Jack all day long and all 
night. I pray for him in the morning and in the evening. 
When he comes near me, I tremble ; I feel that I must obey 
him if he were to order me in anything. 

Lau. Stop, PhiUis ; you must not tell me any more. I 
was trying to act for the best ; but I will make no further 
opposition. See, my dear {taking her hand), if I write to 
Jack Dunquerque to-day, and tell the villain he may come 
and see you whenever he likes, and that he shall marry you 
whenever you like, will that do for you ? 

Phil. Will it do ? Oh, Laurence! Agatha always said 
you were the kindest man in the world ; and I — forgive me 
— I did not believe it, I could not understand it. Oh, Jack, 
Jack ! we shall be so happy. He loves me, Laurence, as 
much as I love him. 

Lau. Phillis, Jack Dunquerque is a lucky man. We all 
love you, my dear ; and I almost as much as Jack. But I am 
too old for you ; and besides, besides — I do love you, how- 
ever, Phillis. A man could not be long beside you without 
loving you. (Mrs. Cassilis is about to enter Q. when she 
sees Laurence and Phillis, ajid she hides behind pillar, c.) 

Mr. C. My wife ! 

Lau. (rising). Kiss me, Phillis. Then let me hold you 
in my arms for once, because you are so sweet and — and I 
am your guardian, you know, and we all love you. {As he is 
about to kiss her, yiKS. Cassilis comes between the7n, pant- 
ing for breath, with cleiiched hands. Then waves her hand 
majestically for Phillis to leave.) Victoria ! 

Mrs. C. Leave him ! Do you hear? — leave him ! 

Lau. Better go, Phillis. 

Mrs. C. No ! she shall not go. She shall not go until 
she has heard me first. You dare to make love to this girl, 



62 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

this school-girl, before my very eyes ! She shall know, she 
shall know our secret. 

Lau. Victoria, you do not know what you are saying. 
Our secret .'* Say your secret, and be careful. 

Mr. C. {aside). Their secret ? her secret ? 

Mrs. C. I shall not be careful. The time is past for 
care. You have sneered and scoffed at me ; you have in- 
sulted me ; you have refused almost to know me — all that I 
have borne, but this I will not bear. Phillis Fleming, this 
man takes you in his arms and kisses you. He says he loves 
you ; he dares to tell you he loves you. No doubt, you are 
flattered. You have had the men around you all day long, 
and now you have the best of them at your feet, alone. 
Well, the man you want to catch, the excellent ^(xr// you and 
Agatha would hke to trap, the man who stands there — 

Lau. Victoria, there is still time to stop. 

Mrs. C. That man is my husband! My htisband ! ! 
We were married six years ago and more. We were married 
in Scotland privately ; but he is my husband, and five days 
after our wedding he left me. Is that true ? 

Lau. {perfectly cool and cahri). Perfectly. You have 
forgotten nothing, except the reason of my departure. If you 
think it worth while troubling PhiHis with that, why — 

Mrs. C. We quarrelled ; that was the reason. He used 
cruel and bitter language. He gave me back my liberty. 

Lau. We separated, PhilHs, after a row, the Hke of 
which you may conceive by remembering that Mrs. Cassilis 
was then six years younger, and even more ready for such 
encounters than at present. We separated. We agreed 
that things should go on as if the marriage, which was no 
marriage, had never taken place. I went abroad. And then 
I heard, by accident, that my wife had taken the hberty I gave 
her, in its fullest sense, by marrying again. Then I came 
home, because I thought that chapter was closed ; but it was 
not, you see ; and, for her sake, I wish I had stayed in 
America. 

Mrs. C. He is my husband still. I can claim him when 
I want him, and I claim him now. I say, Laurence, so long 
as I live you shall -marry no other woman. You are mine ; 
whatever happens, you are mine. {Falls on her knees before 
hifu, and bursts into tears?) Laurence, forgive me, forgive 
me. Take me away. I never loved any one but you. For- 
give me. Let me go with you somewhere out of this place ; 
let us go away together. {As her head is bowed low, Lau- 
rence turns away from her, and Gabriel Cassilis, who 
has been gradually approaching the centre unobserved^ 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 63 

C07nes slowly between them. As she looks up at lengthy 
she sees hi?n.) You here ? Then you know all. It is true ; 
that is my legal husband. For two years and more my hfe 
has been a lie. Stand back and let me go to my husband. 

Mr. C. (^raises ann slowly to stop her^ then looks at each 
of the others appealingly, and tries to speak. At last a faint 
senile crosses his lips). A fine day, and seasonable weather 
for the time of year. 

Lau. Great God! you have destroyed his reason. 

Mr. C. (shakes his head^ and tries hard to say what he 
wishes). A fine day, and seasonable — {Staggers and falls.) 

Lau. {to Mrs. Cassilis). Go home. There is no more 
mischief for you to do. Go. (Mrs. Cassilis casts a look of 
disdain on Mr. Cassilis, and of hatred on Phillis, and 
exits L. 3. Laurence a7id Phillis the?i raise Mr. Cas- 
silis and place him in chair. He finally opens his eyes., and 
his lips move.) It is true, Mr. Cassilis. God knows I would 
have spared you the knowledge. But it is true. Do you un- 
derstand me, Mr. Cassilts "l Do you comprehend what I am 
saying ? 

Mr. C. {nods his head). A fine day, and seasonable 
weather for the time of year. 

Lau. Good heavens ! his mind is gone. 

Phil. He understands you, Laurence, but he cannot ex- 
plain himself. Wait a moment, I know what to do. {Gets 
dictionary from table and hands to him. He turns the 
leaves until he finds the word he wants. Phillis reads.) 
S-i, si; 1-e-n-c-e, lence, — silence. 

Lau. Silence. For all our sakes it is for the best. As 
for me, I shall leave England in a week. I deeply regret 
that I ever came back to this country. (Mr. Cassilis turns 
the leaves of the dictionary again.) Home. Will you 
let me take you home, sir ? (Mr. Cassilis nods. Lau- 
rence assists him to rise.) Phillis, you had better go to 
Agatha. You will find her, probably, in her room. She re- 
turned with me. (Phillis exits r. 3.) Now, Mr. Cassilis. 

Mr. C. {as they are going out). A fine day, and season- 
able weather for the time of year. {Exeujtt L. 3 E. Enter, 
c.from L.J Beck and Jack.) 

Beck. 'You see, Mr. Dunquerque, we had already got 
upon the subject, and I had ventured to make him a propo- 
sition. You see, the fact is I want you to look at things just 
exactly as I do. I'm rich. I have struck ile. That ile is 
the mightiest Special Providence ever given to a single man. 
But it's given for purposes. And one of those purposes is 
that some of it's got to go to you. 



64 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

Jack. To me? 

Beck. To you, Mr. Dunquerque. Who fired that shot? 
Who delivered me from the Grizzly ? 

Jack. Why, Ladds did as much as I. 

Beck. Captain Ladds is a fine fellow. Steady as a rock 
is Captain Ladds. But the ile isn't for Captain Ladds. No, 
sir. I owe it all to you. I said to Mr. Colquhoun, there is 
no two ways about it — that Mr. Dunquerque 7nust marry 
Miss Fleming. Lord! Lord! why they are made for each 
other. Look at him now, leanin' toward her with a look half 
respectful and half hungry. And look at her with her sweet, 
innocent eyes. Wait till you give the word, and she feels his 
arms about her waist and his lips close to hers. It's a beau- 
tiful thing — love. I've never been in love myself, but I've 
watched those that were ; and I venture to tell you that, from 
the queen down to the kitchen-maid, there isn't a woman 
among them all that isn't the better for being loved, and they 
know it, too. Then, I went on to say, Mr. l3unquerque shall 
have half of my pile, — and more if he wants it, — only you let 
him come back again to Miss Fleming. And he laughed in 
his easy way ; there's no kind of man in the States like that 
Colquhoun — seems as if he never wants to get anything. 
He laughed, and lay back on the grass and said: " My dear 
fellow, let Jack come back if he likes ; there's no fighting 
against fate." 

Jack. But, Beck, I can't do this thing. I can't take your 
money. 

Beck. I guess, sir, you can, and I guess you will. Come, 
Mr." Dunquerque, say you won't go against Providence ! 
There's a sweet young lady waiting for you, and a little moun- 
tain of dollars. 

Jack. I thank you all the same. I shall never forget 
your generosity — never. But that cannot be. 

Beck. We will leave it to Miss Fleming. What Miss 
Fleming says is to be, shall be ; and here she is. {Enter 
Phillis r. 3.) Miss Fleming, I leave it to you if this young 
chap oughtn't to accept half of my pile ?. He saved my 
life. 

Phil. I have money enough for both ; what need of 
more ? 

Beck. Done. But what in thunder is the good of the 
money if you can't help those who have helped you ? 

Phil. There are always the poor among us. 

Beck. Yes, that is true. And there always will be. 
More you give to the poor, more you make them poor. 
There's folks goin' up, and folks goin' down. You in Eng- 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 65 

land help the folks goin' down. You make them fall easy. 
I want to help the folks goin' up. I am more ignorant than 
I thought. But I am trying to read, Miss Fleming. 

Phil. Are you ? And how far have you got ? 

Beck. I've got so far that I've lost my way, and shall 
have to go back again. It was all through Robert Browning. 
My dear young lady, if you should chance upon one of his 
books with a pretty title, such as " Red Cotton Nightcap 
Country," or " Fifine at the Fair," don't read it, don't try it. 
It isn't a fairy story, nor a love story. It's a story without 
an end ; it's a story told upsy down ; it's like wandering in a 
forest without a path. It gets into your brain and makes it 
go round ; it gets into your eyes and makes you see ghosts. 
Don't you look at that book. If I thought that poet I gave 
the check to would write Hke that, I'd brain him with a roll of 
his own manuscript. Anybody can write a book, but it takes 
a man to read one. 

Phil. Ah, but it is different with you. I am only in 
words of two syllables. I've just got through the first read- 
ing-book — " The cat has drunk up all the milk." I suppose 
I must go on with it, but I think it is better to have some 
one to read for you. I am sure Jack would read for me 
whenever I asked him. 

Beck. I never'thoughtof that. Why not keep a clerk to 
read for you, and pay out the information in small chunks ? I 
should hke to tackle Mr. Carlyle that way. 

Phil. Perhaps, Mr. Beck, it is well that this great fortune 
did not come to you when you were younger. 

Beck. Perhaps it is so. To fool around New York 
would be a poor return for the Luck of the Butterfly. Yes ; 
better as it is. Providence knows very well what to be about ; 
it don't need promptin' from us. At the right time the Luck 
comes, and at the right time the Luck will go. When it goes 
I hope I shall be prepared for the change. But if it goes to- 
morrow, it cannot take away the memory of these few months. 
It is hke a dream that I should be here with you — I, Gilead 
P. Beck. To be with you and Mr. Dunquerque is hke get- 
ting back the youth I never had ; youth that isn't always 
thinkin' about the next day ; youth that isn't always plannin' 
for the future ; youth that has time to enjoy the sunshine, to 
look into a sweet gell's eyes and fall in love — like you, my 
pretty, and Mr. Dunquerque, who saved my life. There's 
things which do not depend upon ile ; things which money 
cannot do. The world is a more tangled web than I used to 
think. i^Enter Servant with telegram^ and exit. Beck 
reads telegram^ The time has come. It's come a little 



66 THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 

sooner than I expected. But it has come at last. Mr. Dun- 
querque, oblige me by reading that despatch. 

Jack {reads). " Gilead P. Beck. Account overdrawn. 
Wells all run dry. No more bills honored." 

Beck. At least, if the income is gone, the pile remains. 
That's close upon half a million of English money. We can 
do something with that. Mr. Cassilis has got it all for me. 

Jack. Who.? 

Beck. Mr. Gabriel Cassilis, the great English financier. 

Jack. He is ruined. He has failed for two millions 
sterling. If your money is in his hands — 

Beck. In Eldorado stock. 

Jack. The Eldoradians cannot pay their interest, and the 
stock has sunk to nothing. 

Beck. Will you — will you — be so kind — as to bring me 
my Butterfly in the glass case ? I left it in the next room. 
(Jack exit l. 3, and rettirns immediately with the glass 
case with the Butterfly still there, but with both wings off.) 
Has any one — has any one felt an airthquake ? Gone! 
Broken! 

" If this Golden Butterfly fall and break, 
Farewell the Luck of Gilead P. Beck." 

Your own lines, Mr. Dunquerque. Broken into little bits it 
is. The ile run dry, the credit exhausted, and the pile fooled 
away. I am sorry for you most, Mr. Dunquerque. I am 
powerful sorry, sir. I had hoped, with the assistance of 
Miss Fleming, to divide that pile with you. Now, sir, I've 
got nothing. Not a red cent left to divide with a beggar. I 
can't make it out, somehow. Seems as if I'm in a dream. 
Is it real ? Is the story of the Golden Butterfly a true story, 
or is it made up out of some man's brain.? 

Phil. It is real, Mr. Beck. It is real. No one could 
have invented such a story. See, dear Mr. Beck, you that 
we all love so much, there is you in it, and I am in it, and — 
and the twins. Why, if people saw us all in a book, they 
would say it was impossible. I am the only girl in all the 
civilized world who can neither read nor write, — and Jack 
doesn't mind it ; and you are the only man who ever found 
the Golden Butterfly. Indeed, it is all real. 

Jack. It is all real. Beck. You have had the high time, 
and sorry indeed we are that it is all over. But perhaps it 
is not all over. Surely, something out of the two million dol- 
lars must have remained. 

Beck. Nothing is left. Nothing except the solid gold 
that made his cage. And that will go to pay the hotel bill. 



THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. 6/ 

I must strike out something new — away from Empire City, 
and i!e, and gold. It is not the cold chunk of pork that I am 
afraid of; it is the beautiful life and the sweetness that I am 
going to lose. I said I hoped I should be prepared to meet 
the fall of my Luck when it came. But I never thought it 
would come like this. 

Phil. Stay with us, Mr. Beck. Don't go back to the old 
life. 

Jack. Stay with us. We will all live together. 

Beck {opening case and taking out Btctierjly). What 
shall I do with these ? They have given me the pleasantest 
hours of my Hfe. They have made me dream of power as if 
I was autocrat of all the Russias. Mr. Dunquerque, may I 
offer the broken Butterfly to Miss Fleming.? (Jack takes it 
attd puts it together again as it was.) It's wonderful. It's 
the Luck I've given away. 

Phil, {taking it). No, not given ; for here, I restore it to 
you again, perfect and whole. (Beck takes it. E7iter Ser- 
vant with telegram^ which he hands to Beck, and exit 
again, l. 3.) 

Beck {reads it). Merciful power ! Listen ! " Sunk well 
as directed, three rods from the old well. Flow greater than 
the original. To quote from Colonel Sellers, ' there's mil- 
lions in it.' " {Dances about?) " Now could I drink hot 
blood." We Americans must be the Ten Tribes, because 
nobody but one out of the Ten Tribes would get such a 
providential lift as the Golden Butterfly. 

Curtain. 



THE READING CLUB AND HANDY SPEAKER. Being SeVo 
tions in Prose and Poetry, Serious, Humorous, Pathetic, Patriotic, aud 
Dramatic, for Readings and Recitations. Edited by Geokge M. Baker. 
Paper cover, fifteen cents each part. 

Contents of Reading-Club No. 1. • 



At the Soldiers' Graves. 

Battle-Hymn. 

"Boofer Lady," The. 

Bricklayers, The. 

Bumpkin's Courtship, The. 

Charles Sumner. 

" Curfew must not ring To-night." 

Closet Scene, The. (" Hamlet.") 

Defiance of Harold the Dauntless. 

Der Drummer. 

Deutsch Maud Muller, The. 

Doorstep, The. 

Factory-girl's Diary, The. 

Farmer Bent's Sheep-washing. 

Godiva. 

" Good and Better." 

Happiest Couple, The. (From the 

" School for Scandal.") 
Happy Life, The. 
Hans Breitmann's Party. 
Hour of Prayer, The. 
How Terry saved his Bacon. 
How He saved St. Michael's. 
In the Tunnel. 
Jakie on Watermelon-pickle. 
Jester's Sermon, The. 
•* Jones." 



Mahmoud. 

Mistletoe-Bough, The. 

Mr. Caudle and his Second Wife. 

Mr, O'Gallagher's Three Roads to 

Learning. 
Nobody There. 
Old Age. 

Old Farmer Gray gets Photographed. 
Old Methodist's Testimony, The. 
Overthrow of Belshazzar. 
Puzzled Census-Taker, The. 
Popping the Question. 
Red Jacket, The. 
Rob Roy MacGregor. 
Samson. 

Senator's Pledge, The. 
Showman's Courtship, The. 
Squire's Story, The. 
Story of the Bad Little Boy wh« 

didn't come to Grief, The. 
Story of the Faithful Soul, The. 
Stranger in the pew, A. 
Tauler. 

Voices at the Throne, The. 
Whistler, The. 
Yankee and the Dutchman's Dog^ 

The. 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 2. 



Address of Spottycus. 

Baby Atlas. 

Baby's Soliloquy, A. 

Beauty of Youth, The. 

Biddy's Troubles. 

Bobolink, The. 

Broken Pitcher, The. 

By the Alma River. 

Calling a Boy in the Morning. 

Cooking and Courting. 

Curing a Cold. 

Double Sacrifice, The. 

Farm-yard Song. 

Fortune-Hunter, The. 

Goin' Home To-day. 

Harry and I. 

In the Bottom Drawer. 

Last Ride, The. 

Learned Xegro, The. 

Little Puzzler, The, 

Man with a Cold in his Head, The. 

Merchant of Venice, Trial Scene. 

Modest Cousin, The. 

Militia General, A. 

"Nearer, my God, to Thee." 



Old Ways and the New, The. 

Opening of the Piano, The. 

Our Visitor, and What He came for. 

Over the River. 

Paddock Elms, The. 

Pickwickians on Ice, The. 

Picture, A. 

Press On. 

Possession. 

Quaker Meeting, The. 

Queen Mab. 

Rescue, The. 

Shadow on the Wall, The. 

Short Sermon, A. 

Sisters, The. 

Sunday Morning. 

There is no Death. 

Tobe's Monument. 

Toothache. 

Tragical Tale of the Tropics, A. 

Traveller's Evening Song, A. 

Two Anchors, The. 

Two Irish Idyls. 

What's the Matter with that No»eP 

Workers and Thinkers. 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 3. 



Appeal in Behalf of American Lib- 
erty. 

Ambition, 

Auction Mad. 

Aurelia's Unfortunate Young Man. 

Ballad of the Oysterman, The. 

Bob Cratchit's Christmas-Dinner. 

Bone and Sinew and Brain. 

Bunker Hill. 

Burial of the Dane, The. 

Church of the Best Licks, The. 

Countess and the Serf, The. 

Deck-Hand and the Mule, The. 

Evils of Ignorance, The. 

First Snow-fall, The. 

Flower-mission, Junior, The. 

For Love. 

Fra Giacomo. 

How Persimmons took Cah ob der 
Baby. 

Jonesville Singin' Quire, The. 

Last Tilt, The, 

Lay of Real Life, A. 

Law of Kindness, The. 

Losses. 

Mad Luce. 

Minute-men of '75, The. 



Mosquitoes. 

Mr. Stiver's Horse. 

Ode. 

Old Fogy Man, The. 

Pat and the Oysters. 

Recantation of Galileo, The, 

Roast Pig. A Bit of Lamb. 

Roman Soldier, The. 

Riding down, 

Schneider's Tomatoes. 

School of Reform, Scenes from th«. 

Similia Similibus. 

Singer, The. 

Solemn Book- Agent, The. 

Sons of New England, The. 

Speech of the Hon. Perverse Peabodj 

on the Acquisition of Cuba. 
Temperance. 
Twilight. 

Two Loves and a Life. 
Two Births. 

Uncle Reuben's Baptism, 
Victories of Peace, The. 
Wedding-Fee, The. 
Wolves, The. 
What the Old Man said. 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 4. 



Battle Flag of Sigurd, The. 
" Business " in Mississippi. 
Bell of Atri, The. 
Cane-bottomed Chair, The. 
Cobbler's Secret, The. 
Cuddle Doon. 
Custer's Last Charge. 
Daddy Worthless. 
Decoration. 

Dignity of Labor, The. 
Elder Sniflae's Courtship. 
Goin' Somewhere. 
Grandfather. 

He Giveth His Beloved Sleep. 
Hot Roasted Chestnut, The. 
House-top Saint, The. 
'• Hunchback," Scene from the. 
Indian's Claim, The. 
Joan of Arc. 
Leedle Yawcob Strauss. 
Little Black-eyed Rebel, The. 
Little Hero, The. 
Little Shoe, A. 
Lost Cats, The. 
^ry Maloney's Philosophy. 



Minot's Ledge. 

Mother's Fool. 

Mr. O'HooIahan's Mistake. 

Mr. Watkins celebrates. 

My Neighbor's Baby. 

Palmetto and the Pine, The. 

Pip's Fight, 

Post-Boy, The, 

Pride of Battery B, The, 

«' Palace o' the King, The." 

Paper don't Say, The. 

Penny ye meant to gi'e, Th«. 

Question, A. 

Robert of Lincoln. 

Song of the Dying, The. 

St. John the Aged. 

Tramp, The, 

Tom. 

Two Portraits. 

Village Sewing Society, The. 

Way Astors are Made, The. 

What is a Minority? 

Widder Green's Last WordSo 

William Tell. 

Zeuobia'8 Defence. 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 5. 



A Blessing on the Dance. 

A Charge with Prince Rupert. 

A Mysterious Disappearance. 

Art-Matters in Indiana. 

A Khiue Legend. 

A Watch that " Wanted Cleaning." 

An Exciting Contest. 

An Indignation-Meeting. 

An Irish Wake. 

Ballad of a Baker. 

Ballad of Constance. 

Ballad of Ronald Clare. 

Between the Lines. 

Burdock's Goat. 

Butterwick's Weakness. 

Dot Baby off Mine. 

Edith helps Things along. 

Failed. 

Faithful Little Peter. 

Five. 

From the Sublime to the Ridiculous. 

Good-By. 

«' If We Knew." 

Last Redoubt. 

MoUie, or Sadie? 



Noble Revenge. 

Not Dead, but Risen. 

" One of the Boys." 

Scene from " Loudon Assurance." 

Scene from " The Marble Heart." 

Sideways. 

Somebody's Mother. 

Something Spilt. 

Tact and Talent. 

The Amateur Spelling-Match. 

The Blue and Gray. 

The Bridge. 

The Canteen. 

The Dead Doll. 

The Flood and the Ark. 

The Houest Deacon. 

The Kaiser's Feast. 

The Little Shoes did it. 

The Scotchman at the Play. 

The Seven Ages. 

The Two Glasses. 

Tired Mothers. 

Uncle Remus's Revival Hymn. 

Whistling in Heaven. 

Why Biddy and Pat got Married. 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 6. 



A Disturbance in Church. 

A Disturbed Parent. 

A Christmas Carol. 

A Miracle. 

" A Sweeter Revenge." 

An Irish Love-Letter. 

Behind Time. 

Blind Ned. 

Cavalry Charge, The. 

Clerical Wit. 

•' Conquered at Last." 

Count Eberhard's Last Foray. 

Deaf and Dumb. 

Der Shoemaker's Poy. 

Down with the Heathen Chinee ! 

Fight at Lookout. 

Fireman's Prayer. 

Greeley's Ride. 

Great Future. 

Immortality. 

Joe's Bespeak. 

John Chinaman's Protest. 

Jim Lane's Last Message. 

Mr. Coville proves Mathematics. 

Nationality. 



One Touch of Nature. 

Paddy O'Rafther. 

Putty and Varnish. 

Reserved Power. 

Ship-Boy's Letter. 

Sweet Singer of Michigan. 

Tacking Ship off Shore. 

Tammy's Prize. 

Talk about Shooting. 

Ten Years after. 

The Benediction. 

The Changed Cross. 

The Fan Drill. 

The Farmer's Story. 

The Fountain of Youth. 

The King's Kiss. 

The Palmer's Vision. 

The Sergeant of the Fiftieth. 

The Well -Digger. 

" Them Yankee Blankits." 

They Met. 

Virginius to the Roman Army. 

Warning to Woman. 

Weaving the Web. 

Widow Stebbins on Homoeopathy. 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 7. 



A College Widow. 

A Free Seat. 

A Humorous Dare-Devil. 

All's Well that ends Well. 

A London Bee Story. 

A Modern Heroine. 

A Modern Sermon. 

A Reminiscence. 

A Royal Princess. 

Ave Mai'ia, 

Civil War. 

Creeds of the Bells. 

" Dashing Rod," Trooper. 

Down Hill with the Brakes off. 

Drawing Water. 

Family Portraits. 

Fool's Prayer. 

Greatest Walk on Record. 

Hannibal at the Altar. 

*' He giveth His Beloved Sleep." 

Hohenlinden. 

How Neighbor Wilkius got Reliiiion. 

How Randa went over the Rivet • 

Irish Boy and Priest. 

Jimmy Butler and the Owl. 

Jim Wolfe and the Cats. 



1 ast Hymn. 

Lceft Alone at Eighty. 

Maud's Misery. 

National Grame. 

Nt w Dixie. 

On the Channel-Boat. 

Ori »nt Yourself. 

Pad lie Your Own Canoe. 

Patr, ot Spy. 

Pledfe to the Dead. 

Pomo 'ogical Society. 

Rhym ^s at Random. 

San Beiito. 

St. Leo.i's Toast. 

That C»f . 

The Ca«>>enter's Wooing, and tk« 

Sequel 
TheDeac Student. 
The Ladie». 
The Pin. 
The Retof' 
The Singei ' Alms. 
This Side and That. 
Two Fishers. 
Uncle Mellick dines with his Master. 



Contents of Reading-Clup }]? 8. 



A i?rick. 

A Colored Debating Society. 

Along the Line. 

A New Version of the Parable of the 

Virgins. 
An Evangel. 
Annie's Ticket. 
Apples — A Comedy. 
A Sermon for the Sisters. 
A Thirsty Boy. 
Aunt Phillis's Guest. 
Ballad of the Bell-Tower. 
" Christianos ad Leones! " 
City Man and Setting Hen. 
Daisy's Faith. 
De 'Sperience ob Reb'rend Quacko 

Strong. 
Defence of Lucknow. 
Dutch Security. 
Fast Mail. 
Father William. 
From One Standpoint. 
Girl of the Crisis. 
Grave of the Greyhound. 
Indian Warrior's Defence. 
Labor is Worship. 



Lanty Leary. 

Last of the Sarpints. 

Legend of the White Hand. 

London Zoological Gardens. 

Masked Batteries. 

Miss Edith's Modest Re(^ 'st. 

Mrs. Bi'own at the Play. 

Old Grimes. 

People will laugh. 

Peril of the Mines. 

Parody on " Father William." 

Patter of the Shingle. 

Paul Clifford's Defence. 

Shiftless Neighbor Ball. 

Song of the Mystic. 

The Baron's Last Banquet. 

The Captive. 

The Dilemma. 

The Divorce Feast. 

The Farmer and the Barristeri 

The Man with a Bear. 

The Story of the Tiles. 

The Outlaw's Yarn. 

The Rich Man and the Poor Mai 

Two Dreams. 

Yankee Courtship. 



THE STOLEN WILL, 

(NEW EDITION.) 

A COMEDY-DRAMA IN THREE ACTS. 

Ten male and three female characters. 
Price, 35 cents. 



"West Swanzey, July 27, 1881. 
Lex. E. Tilden' : — Dear Sir, — Have read your play entitled "The 
Stolex Will." Was very much pleased with it. Think the character 
of Cliip Winkle, Esq., is immense. Should like to play it myself when I 
get through with Joshua, ilope the plav will be a success wherever pro- 
duced. It deserves to be. Yours truly, "DE^'MAN THOMPSO^^. 



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Farce. One act 3 M. 2 f. 

BOTH ALIKE. — Comedy. Two acts 5 M. 5 F. 

THE SHAKER LOVERS. -Drama. One act 7 M. 3 F. 

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THE ANONYMOUS KISS. A Vaudeville. 

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ANOTHER GLASS. A Drama in 1 Act. 

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AUNT CHARLOTTE'S MAID. A Farce 

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BLANKS AND PRIZES. A Comedietta 

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BLUE AND CHERRY. A Comedy in 1 

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BOUQUET. A Comedietta in 1 Act. By 

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BOWLED OUT. A Farce in 1 Act. By 

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BROTHER BILL AND ME. A Farce in 

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A BULL IN A CHINA SHOP. A Comedy 

' in 2 Acts. By Charles Matthews. 6 male, 4 female 

THE CHRISTENING, 'a Farce in 1 Act. 

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THE CLEFT STICK. A Comedy in 3 Acts. 

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COUSIN TOM. A Comedietta in 1 Act. 

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Farce in 1 Act. By E. Vates and N. H. Harrington. 
7 male, 3 female char. 

A HUSBAND TO ORDER. A Serio-comic 

Drama in 2 .A.ct3. 5 male, .3 female char. 

I'VE WRITTEN TO BROWNE. A Farce 

in 1 Act. Bv r. J. VVillianis. 4 male, 3 female char. 

JOHN D0BB3. A Farce in 1 Act. By 

J. AI. Morton. 5 male, 2 female char. 

JOHN W0PP3. A Farce in 1 Act. By 

W. E. Suter. 4 male, 2 female char. 

THE LOST CHILDREN. A Musical En- 

tertainmcnt in 5 Acts. By Mrs. Lewis Jtrvey. 8 
male, .5 female char., and chorus. 

LOOK AFTER BROWN. A Farce in 1 Act. 

Bv George A. Sluart, M.D. 6 male, 1 female char. 

LOST IN LONDON. A Drama in 3 Acts. 

6 male, 4 female char. 



I 4 Acts. 



LYING WILL OUT. A Comedy in 

By H. Pelhani Cintis. 6 male, 4 female char. 

MADAM IS ABED. A Vaudeville in 1 Act. 

2 male, 2 female char. 

MARY MOO; or, Which Shall I Marry? 

A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 male, 1 fini. 

MONSEIGNEUR. A Drama in 3 Acts. iJy 

Thomas Archer. Jo male, 3 female char. 

MY PRE CIOUS BETSY. A Farce in 1 A ct. 

By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 4 female cliar. 

MY TURN NEXT. A Farce in 1 Act. By 

T. J. Williams. 4 male, 3 female char. 

NICHOLAS FLAM. A Comedy in 2 Acts. 

ByJ. B. Buckstone. 5 male, 3 female char. 

NONT; SO DEAF AS THOSE WHO WON'T 

Hear. A Comedietta in 1 Act. By H. P. Curtis. 2 

male, 2 female cliar. 

NURSEY CHICKWEED. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By .T. J. Williams. 4 male, 2 female char. 

OLD HONESTY. A Comic Drama in 2 

Acts. Bv .J. M. Morton. 5 male, 2 female char. 

ONLY A "CLOD. A Comic JJninia in 1 Act. 

By J. P. Simpson. 4 male, 1 female char. 

PAYABLE ON DEMAND. A Domestic 

Drama in 2 Acts. 7 male, 1 female char. 

THE PHANTOM BREAKFAST. A Farce 

in 1 Act. By Clias. Selby. 3 male, 2 female char. 

PUTKINS; Heir to Castles in the Air. 

A Comic Drama iu 1 Act. By W. R. Emerson. 2 
male, 2 female char. 

THE QUEEN'S HEART. A Comedy in 3 

Acts. 5 male, 4 female cliar. 

A RACE FOR A WIDOW. A Farce in 1 

Act. By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 4 female char. 

SARAH'S YOUNG MAN. A Farce in 1 

Act. By W. E. Suter. 3 male, 3 female char. 

THE SCARLET LETTER. A Drama in 3 

Acts. 8 male, 7 female char. 

SILVERSTONE'S WAGER. A Comedi- 

etta in 1 Act. Bv ){. R. Andrews. 4 male, 3 female. 

A SLICE OF LUCK. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 2 female char. 

SMASHINGTON GOIT. A Farce inl Act. 

By T. J. Williams. 5 male, 3 female char. 

A SOLDIER, A SAILOR, A TINKER, 

and a Tailor. A Farce in 1 Act. 4 male, 2 female. 

SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. 

A Drama in 1 Act. By Slingsby Lawrence. Smale, 

3 female char. 

TRUE UNTO DEATH. A Drama in 2 Acts. 

Bv J. Sheridan Kuowles. 6 male, 2 female' char. 

THE TURKISH BATH. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By Montague Williams and F. C. Burnand. Cmale, 
1 female char. 

TWO GENTLEMEN IN A FIX. A Farce 

in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 male char. 

TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. A 

Farce in 1 Act. Bv Lenox llorne. 4 male, 1 female. 

THE TWO PUDDIFOOTS. A Fnrce in 1 

Act. By .1. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 

AN UGLY CUSTOMER. A l^'arce in 1 Act. 

Bv Thomas .1. Williams. 3 male, 2 female char. 

UNCLE ROBERT. A Comedy in 3 Acts. 

IJy 11. P. (in-tis. male, 2 female char. 

A VERY PLEASANT EVENING. A Farce 

in 1 Act. Bv \Y. Iv Suter. 3 male ch.ar. 

THE WELSH GIRL. A Comedy in 1 Act, 

liv Mrs. Blanche. 3 male, 2 female char. 

WHICH WILL HAVE HIM ? A Vaude- 
ville. 1 male. 2 female char. 

THE WIFE'S SECRET. A Play in 5 Acts. 

Bv Geo. W. 1-ovell. ]0 male, 2 female char. 

YOUR LIFE'S IN DANGER. A Farce in 

1 Act. Bv J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 



WALTEE H. BAKEE & CO., Publishers, Boston, Mass. 



p. O. Box 284e. 



